Savage Thirsts
by CrispenRaptitties
Summary: Harry Potter is the Boy who died. Forfeiting his life, he defeated the Dark Lord Voldemort, blessing the world with a decade of tranquility. In a world seemingly devoid of the boy from the Prophecy, Albus Dumbledore meets the horrific shell of an eleven year old boy, his blood corrupted by an ancient and terrible curse, tormenting the boy with a near unquenchable thirst for blood.
1. A Dark Journey

**Authors Note**

_Just a little idea I had. Written in a single night, so forgive errors, and some potentially clunky segments. I've slightly glossed over the first 3 years at Hogwarts, as my focus is on GoF and afterwords. I didn't completely skip them however, as i felt the need to give a little background to the character I've created, so the beginning might be a little slow. I will be editing this a little over the next short while. Please feel free to leave reviews, I'm always happy to receive feedback, positive or otherwise. There are a Few segments I'd like to rewrite in this first chapter, and i'd also like to delve a little deeper into Harry's pre - school years at some point, so maybe expect a few changes here and there._

_For the time being, thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy :)_

_EDIT: Just changed a few things around, nothing particularly major, just some things to smooth out plot points I'd forgotten to outline, like the difference from the canon Tournament._

_**Chapter I - A dark journey**_

Albus Dumbledore placed an enchanted handkerchief over his nose, immediately relieving his nostrils of the putrid stench that was permeating from the small forest clearing.

Rotting corpses littered the forest floor, both human and beast alike. Crimson stained the soil beneath them, and splattered across several nearby tree trunks and boulders. Albus recoiled slightly from the sight; this was not how he'd imagined his day to progress.

Edging through the graveyard, he allowed his wand to slide between his fingers.

As he rounded a large rock outcropping, previously hidden by the dense wood, he noticed the corpses began to appear far fresher, and the human remains gave way to a larger quantity of large woodland creatures.

Deer's lay dead with wide eyes, staring mindlessly into the void, their perfect pelts marred only by thick matted red hair on their throats.

These were the freshest corpses, appearing only days, if not hours old.

Albus noted, with some concern, that while the older carcasses were abuzz with small insects feeding on the remains, clearing the skeletons of any possible nutrients, as he got closer to what appeared to be a small cave entrance, there appeared to be no life whatsoever, insect or otherwise.

Peering into the dark maw of the cave, Albus felt a miasma of pain and anger seeping from its entrance like a festering wound.

No small amount of fear crept through his mind, though it was not for his own safety; Albus was more than capable of protecting himself from such savage creatures.

No, what Albus feared was the condition of the child he was here to collect.

238 children had been issued letters of admittance into Hogwarts School of witchcraft and wizardry, sent by owl. As of yet, 237 of these children had immediately responded with great interest.

One had not, and despite being sent several more invitations, this boy still ignored his hailing's.

Looking into the matter had proven cataclysmic; Albus, for the first time in his over centuries of living, had suffered a stroke.

The letters, magically crafted by the school itself, had been addressed to one 'Harry James Potter'.

Now of course Albus had, after recovering from his moment of weakness, conferred with Minerva and Severus over the implications of such an invitation; the school was enchanted with an ancient, and un-deceivable magic, if such a letter was sent, such a boy existed.

Only as far as Albus, and the rest of the Magical community were aware, said boy had died many years ago, along with his parents, giving his life to destroy the darkest mage in recent history.

The revelation had sent Albus on a ravenous crusade; he, and he supposed, the entire wizarding world, owed much to James and Lily Potter, if not to the boy himself.

And furthermore, there were so many questions to ask the boy!

He had, after discussing the matter with his closest confidants, immediately taken off to find the boy.

That had, unfortunately, lead him to his current whereabouts; a dark forest, hundreds of miles from the nearest town in Iceland.

Of course Albus had been concerned, why was the boy here? How had he even arrived in this place?

But he shook these questions from himself, if his suspicions were correct, then he had somehow been lured into the den of a vicious monster, possibly being fed off for nutrients.

A slow, and agonizing death.

Finally, a mere few paces from the gaping maw of the cave, the stench so strong it clawed its way through his enchanted handkerchief, Albus heard a guttural, if not rather high pitched voice grate from inside the cave.

"Get away old man, or you'll find yourself joining my friends here."

The voice cracked and wavered throughout the threat. It sounded petrified.

Raising his wand, he cast a minor stinging hex blindly into the cave, and heard as it hit its mark, a hiss slithering out of it. Before the creature could retaliate, Albus flung a stupefy after his initial stinging hex, and called out to the foul creature.

"I come for a boy. It is my understanding you have ensnared him in this foul place."

Part of Albus couldn't help but feel sorry for the beast before him. Living as it did brought nothing but sorrow and anger; it was a lonely, devastating existence.

"I will leave you in peace, so long as you return the boy, and I deem his condition satisfactory."

He hesitated at his offer. This beast had killed humans. Regardless of it's nature, that was still a grievous crime.

A snarl scratched its way from the maw.

"I have no boy here, piss off."

Albus was slightly taken aback by the response, before finally stepping into the lair, grim determination marring his otherwise gentle face.

As his eyes adjusted, he rapidly jerked his wand to face the creature, and found it crouching over a recently slaughtered reindeer. It's foul visage caused Albus recoil.

Crimson fluid dribbled down his chin, flowing over thick, congealed and crusted blood from previous feedings.

It was a mess, both the contents of the cave, and it's inhabitant.

Even more corpses littered the small opening, with very little of the cave floor visible beneath the assortment of carcasses.

Looking back to the frozen monster, he appraised it.

Apart from its gruesome visage, it was horrific.

It wore nothing more than tattered rags, barely coating it's body. Open, oozing wounds spread across it's skin like leeches latching onto a fresh victim, they wriggled, as the blood in the monsters mouth seeped and gushed into its not-quite-living veins, writhing to seal the worst of the breaches.

The worst appeared to be huge claw marks, possibly of a bear. Albus could see, beneath the enormous gashes, the creatures exposed collarbone, though thankfully this, being the worst infringement, appeared to be the priority of the life giving sustenance of the repulsive creature.

Glancing upwards, his eyes rested on the beasts hair. It was patchy in areas, parts of exposed scalp showing pus coated wounds. Trails of crusted blood matted in his hair, and for a brief moment, Albus again felt sympathy for the foul beast. Shaking his head, he glanced again about the cave, keeping his wand trained on the immediate enemy. Searching for any trace of Harry, he found no living creature, not even a human corpse within the cave. Eyes hardening, he returned his gaze to the creature, for the first time making eye contact.

Albus' heart dropped.

The eyes were beautiful, yet tormented; they pierced into his very soul, begging him for a swift death.

And they were emerald green. Glittering in the low light of the cave, Albus lowered his wand in shock.

He whispered, the word barely escaping his quivering lips.

"Harry?"

The eyes narrowed, and the creature strained against his spell.

"My boy, what foulness has befallen you."

Albus stepped forward, and the creature recoiled slightly.

Somehow, despite his powerful spell, it spoke, a near screech of metal grating on stone.

"Please leave"

The words rang hollow, a desperate plea from a beast with little control.

Summoning a chair from thin air, Albus sat in front of the boy.

He contemplated asking several things, before deciding It was hardly the time for such questions. Instead, he asked, "Are you okay my boy?"

Something broke inside of it, and it fell limp against his paralysis.

Albus removed his charm and the boy collapsed onto the slaughtered beast beneath it.

"Who are you?" It asked, barely above a whisper.

Albus had to close his eyes briefly, stopping the tears that threatened to burst from his ageing orbs.

"I am a friend of your parents Harry. I've been looking for you for quite some time."

It didn't respond.

"We've been sending you letters Harry. Have you not received them?"

It gestured to a corner, where Albus saw a pile of several pieces of parchment.

Finally, it rose.

A small amount of trepidation grew within Albus, yet he held out hope that the boy had some self-control remaining.

Instead, it leaned against the cave wall and peered up at the cave ceiling.

"No interest in the world of magic?"

Albus was trying his best to appear friendly. A difficult task when what he was conversing with hardly seemed human.

Eyes still vacantly staring up, it spoke, it's voice again barely a whisper.

"I could wish for nothing more than a world of magic."

A faint flicker of emotion Albus had yet to see in the boy passed through his eyes, before he continued.

"But such a thing is a fantasy. You would do well to smite me here master magician."

Albus frowned. Again his heartstrings tensed. This was far too cruel an existence for a boy no older than eleven.

"Who did this to you my boy?"

He barely reacted to the question.

"How long has this curse held you?"

He tore his eyes from the ceiling, looking to the wizened old man.

"I have been afflicted with this disease for as long as I can remember."

They remained silent for a while, Albus' mind flying at a million miles a minute, thinking of both things to say, and potential cures for the boy.

What a cruel mistress, fate was. What child deserved such suffering?.

"I insist you accompany me to the School. There is nothing but sadness in this place."

He peered around the cave. He could feel the raw emotion that poured into its very walls. There was so much sadness; so much loneliness and anger. It was so thick it practically stained the very surface.

At the very least, he would take this boy away, while he searched for a cure.

He was brought out of his thoughts by the boys' words.

"I can't. I'm not safe."

The boys eyes, once a startling emerald green, a source of light in this dark place, were now dull and haunted, as he stared to the floor.

"I can't control the hunger."

Albus opened his mouth to respond, but the boy leapt up, gesturing wildly around the cave.

"Look for yourself! I've been here less than two moons and look!"

It did indeed startle Albus. An awful lot of death stained this place, all in under two months.

Instead of displaying his worries, Albus spoke quietly, looking to the boy.

"You haven't attacked me."

The boy ceased his pacing, and seemed to curl into himself.

"I try not to touch the people. These animals taste repulsive, but I try."

Albus smiled weakly at the boy.

"It's so hard."

His arms had wrapped around his knees, as he retreated into a corner.

"Every few weeks I can't help myself. Some idiot comes too near. And the smell... Oh god, the smell."

The haunted look returned to his eyes, deeper even, than before. Albus watched as his teeth slightly lengthened, poking between his bloody lips.

"We can help you Harry. Hogwarts is a safe place, we have many teachers with exemplary qualifications that can help with such an affliction."

The boy looked torn.

"I can't be near children."

Albus paused for a moment. Despite his assurance of safety, he had no doubt that very few people would be comfortable with a dangerous beast sitting with groups of young, unaware children.

"We will work something out, my boy." He said simply.

Looking into the old mans eyes, a glimmer of hope passed through the emerald orbs.

"Promise me, that should I kill someone, you will end me on the spot."

The words were hallowing. It wasn't right for a boy so young to yearn for the release of death.

Albus nodded slightly, saying in his most comforting voice, "You will not harm a soul Harry. But if it comes down to it, I will personally take the action required."

As if struck by a spell, suddenly the boy again collapsed, tears streaking his face, smearing the blood that coated it. He writhed on the floor, convulsing.

Albus sighed, his heart heavy, before placing a palm on the boys shivering leg.

Suddenly, The cave was empty, both man and child sucked away through some inexplicable vacuum, leaving the place silent.

Slowly, small insects crawled into the cave, finally free of the predator that kept them from their feast.

Rats and vermin followed, eyes glinting with pure euphoria as a near endless supply of nutrients lay before them.

Harry Potter sat atop a gargoyle, sixty odd feet above the crowd gathered below. Hidden amongst the floating candles, and the darkness of the faux sky above them, he went nearly unnoticed by the humans beneath him. The youths gave him no mind, as they were completely unaware of his existence. Only Professors Dumbledore, Snape, and McGonagall spared him any glance, and those they did were friendly enough, especially that of the headmaster.

Harry always sat there, high above as the students below feasted; this was his seat in the great hall, above the Gryffindor table, the house which he had been bestowed.

He wasn't a real house member of course. He didn't sleep, eat or even learn with any of his fellow Gryffindor peers. But he knew each of them.

He liked his housemates, and he protected them fiercely; especially against the actions of those in Slytherin, who often seemed to delight in bullying the youngest of the red and gold house.

He liked to think of himself as the silent guardian of Gryffindor house, and often chuckled to himself as he did so. It was a ridiculous concept; a Bloodthirsty monster protecting its prey from one another.

His first year at Hogwarts had so far gone fairly well; he hadn't attacked a single person, no doubt due to the potions and tonics given to him by Professor Snape, along with the occasional rat or woodland critter he feasted upon. So far they had completely sated his hunger, whenever it arose; though still he had heard nothing of the development of a cure. For the time being, he didn't mind; his existence was, for the first time in his life, peaceful.

His studies progressed wonderfully – Having little to do in his spare time other than brood in dark corners, he often spent the time reading old tomes of magic, and practicing casting magic.

He was disappointed that the wand Dumbledore had gifted him was nearly useless – as a magical creature, Harry was gifted with the ability to cast magic without the use of an instrument such as a wand or staff, with an ease and control unmatched by Wizards and Witches.

While he had no doubt that many a magic user would be insanely jealous, it only further separated Harry from his peers, and as such, only deepened his loneliness.

But, he supposed, comparatively, such loneliness paled in comparison to his former life.

He had friends, both in the form of unknowing students, and his teachers.

Most of the staff at the School knew of Harry, and taught them all they could in their respective field. Harry's favorites were Professor Flitwick, a strange little man, McGonagall, Groundskeeper Rubeus Hagrid – Who'd been fascinated with Harry, and of course Albus Dumbledore himself.

His curriculum was similar to that of students his age, but due to his insatiable thirst for knowledge, he'd swiftly outpaced the first years, and was currently beginning unofficial tutoring in third year studies, while completing the second year exams, as the first years began exams of their own.

The only class Harry had been forbidden from learning was Defense against the Dark arts.

While he wasn't completely certain as to why this was the case, from the few times he had observed the class, his best guess was to the fact that the Professor often referred to creatures of his ilk as dark and evil, and even taught the students how to combat them.

Initially Harry had been upset, but this was quickly replaced with indifference; the Teacher, Professor Quirrell, was an incompetent fool who could probably teach Harry little.

As the meal below ceased, Harry slunk from perch to perch; often receiving a few terse words from the Gargoyles he trod on, following the students to their respective Chambers.

Harry knew of nearly every crack and crevice within the school; a boon, he supposed, of his affliction.

Dissolving into shadow allowed him near unchallenged reign of the school and it's secrets. The only place he had yet to explore was a doorway on the third floor that Dumbledore had strictly forbidden him from entering. He respected Dumbledore's request, despite his curiosity; it was the least he could do for his surrogate father.

Interestingly, Dumbledore had allowed Harry free access to the forbidden forest, perhaps believing that should the thirst for blood overcome him, he may find suitable sustenance in the form of some poor unwitting creature within the woods; How right he'd been!

Harry had explored the forest voraciously; it was his domain, even more so than the Ancient castle itself.

He had observed the Acromantulas, Centaurs and various other magical creatures with fascination; they were, in a fashion, his brethren in this magical world.

The Centaurs, despite their initial terror at his presence, had eventually warmed to him, as he had done little other than leap from tree to tree, observing them, and they had began waving to him as he traveled through the forest. It had brought pure, unadulterated joy to Harry, but still he did not approach the creatures; they were insular beings, and should they wish to interact with him further, he had no doubt they would do so.

In the form of a young boys shadow, Harry escorted a group of first year Gryffindor students toward the painting of the Fat Lady; the entrance to their commons.

A pale red headed boy spoke with a brunette girl with wild, uncontrollable hair.

Harry recognized Ron Weasely, and Hermione Granger.

Hermione was animatedly gesturing to Ron, a worried expression marring her otherwise pleasant features.

"I'm telling you Ronald, we shouldn't get involved! At most we should tell Professor Dumbledore."

Harry, his interest in the conversation piqued, shifted from shadow to shadow, until he crept up onto Hermione's back, clinging to her sweater.

As if she felt the new presence, she shuddered and glanced over her shoulder, Seeing nothing, she hesitantly returned her attention to Ron, who, while also looking rather worried himself, rolled his eyes. "And I'm saying we can't wait that long! You heard him, he's gone for the next three days, and whoever is going into that room is definitely going to use that time."

His voice wavered; truthfully he was petrified of what was behind the door, but his determination and curiosity demanded they investigate the disturbance.

Hermione's voice was low, as she tried to hide their conversation from the surrounding Gryffindor's, "How do we know it's not just some Professor who's supposed to go in there Ron?"

They were talking of the Forbidden door on the third floor, Harry surmised. It appeared his was not the only curious mind.

"You said yourself Hermione, several spells were cast on the lock. If they were supposed to be entering, why wouldn't they just use the key?"

Hermione appeared to battle herself, clearly uncertain of the implication, but eventually she nodded, the color gone from her face.

"Okay. We'll have a look tonight. But we really should just alert McGonagall or someone."

Harry slunk away from the two children, his form sliding from shadow to shadow, hiding away from the surrounding eyes.

He contemplated doing exactly as they said, and alerting McGonagall, and slipping under the crack in her large oak door, when he noticed Professor Quirrell in her office.

He had yet to reveal himself to the oaf, and had been told by Albus that it should preferably remain that way.

Somewhat worried, he slipped back beneath the door, rankling away from the stench of death that always emanated from the Defense teacher.

He decided he couldn't wait for the professor to leave, as the two students might decide to act while he was otherwise disposed.

Reluctantly, he returned to the Fat Lady, who jumped slightly at his presence, materializing out of shadow as he stood in the empty corridor.

Her startled expression gave way to that of slight annoyance, "Do you enjoy frightening old women? I'm not sure why the Headmaster keeps you around." Despite the contents of the sentence, Harry smiled. He could detect the humor in the words.

"Of course! What else would I do? Hang from the rafters all day and night?"

The lady smiled slightly, tilting her head, "I don't suppose you came to finally indulge my desire for an audience? None of these ingrates enjoy my singing."

Harry chuckled, and quickly responded, "I apologise ma'am, but I haven't the time. Two of your little ones are about to do something very stupid, and I'm afraid I'll have to either stop them, or assist them. Neither of which seems particularly appealing at the moment."

At this, the Lady's face scowled, "The Weasely twins no doubt? Always up to mischief those two. Reminds me of a group of boys from years ago. Nasty lot they were…"

Harry Smiled politely as the Lady rambled.

It continued for a few minutes before she suddenly went quiet, a surprised expression on her face, and hissed to him "They're coming out now!"

Harry nodded, and dissolved once more, taking the form of a flickering shadow on the nearby wall.

Ron and Hermione whispered to one another. Hermione turned with a scrunched up face to the now closing painting, "Please don't tell anyone miss…" She trailed off as she found the frame empty.

Shrugging, Ron started towards the staircases, as Hermione jogged to catch up.

Harry slunk in the darkness, their vanguard, scouting the hallways before them.

They were incredibly naïve; they had no means of hiding from any prefects or staff who could be prowling about, and it was insanely lucky that they finally made their way to the doorway without being discovered.

Harry hesitated as he came upon the entrance – It had been forced open already. The two had been correct; someone was breaking into the forbidden room.

Slipping through the keyhole, he found himself in a large room with a sleeping Cerberus lying atop a trap door.

Harry could hear the two outside shuffling quietly, as Hermione cast Alohomora.

Harry watched the beast stir at the noise.

It was enormous, and clearly capable of tearing a fully-grown adult apart in seconds.

To the side was a discarded harp; Harry guessed, enchanted to lull the beast to sleep.

Panic rose as the door opened, and the beast fully awoke. It sleepily turned its gaze to the two children in the doorway.

Shaking the sleep from it's eyes, it began to snarl and growl, the deep tone reverberating through the small room.

It stepped toward the pair, and Harry leapt toward the creatures mind, assaulting its undefended thoughts.

Ron and Hermione both leapt backward at the sight of the snarling beast.

Harry continued his assault on the Cerberus.

_Back._

It was a simple command; Harry had not fully grasped his ability to control lesser beasts, and had no intention of risking the lives of children to test his budding abilities.

The dog faltered, as if conflicted with it's own thoughts.

Harry silently raged on, roaring at it, and he watched as it retreated from the children.

Harry was an intimidating beast, when he needed to be. An apex predator, he had grown up battling Polar bears for his prey, and the ferocious beasts had not yet defeated him. Of course being immortal probably helped, but Harry wasn't one to complain.

This effect of such an unparalleled predator wasn't lost on the now cowering Cerberus, who now slunk in back of the room, shying away from the unseen monster that graced its nostrils.

The children, seemingly undeterred by their first obstacle, leapt at the opportunity, and jumped through the opening in the floor.

Harry sighed; Gryffindor bravery was often lauded as simply foolish stupidity, and at the moment he could hardly argue.

He silently, and invisibly followed the two children, and Harry had to say it was extremely lucky Ron had Hermione with him, or else they would've suffocated in the very next trap.

Somehow, the two made it through the room with the clawing and clutching vines, no thanks to Hermione's handy ability with her wand, as well as the next room with the flying keys.

Harry admittedly assisted in this case; while they had both found the wounded key with ease, neither were particularly handy on a broom, and he'd had quickly materialize and swipe the strange key from the sky as they failed miserably to grasp it.

Luckily, he was quick enough that neither child had witnessed a child suddenly form out of shadow, only to immediately disappear.

Finally, they found themselves in a room decorated as a chessboard.

After spending a few nerve-wracking moments attempting to simply pass the board, and nearly having their heads removed from their body, the two children resigned to completing the challenge.

Harry had watched as Ron masterfully combated the enchanted board, never failing to capitalize on a weakness.

Unfortunately, As competent as he was at chess, the board was magic, and as such, a blatant cheat. Ron had been forced to sacrifice himself to allow Hermione to take the enemies king, and in doing so, received a stone sword through the leg.

Completing the task, a doorway opened on the far side of the room, but rather than continuing, Hermione instead ran to Ron, and proceeded to try every healing spell she knew.

Harry was relieved; he couldn't bare to think of the dangers of the next room, particularly considering the overwhelming stench of death that found his heightened smell.

The familiarity of the stench struck Harry, and with reluctance, he tore away from the two huddled children; Ron would survive he surmised, regardless of the effectiveness of Hermione's spells.

Gliding into the next room, he heard the doors behind him shut.

Before him, a cavernous hall sat.

Large archways lead the way to a glittering object at the end of the hall.

In front of it, stood Professor Quirrell.

He was muttering to himself, unaware of the new presence in the room.

A hissing voice sounded from the man, much different to his usual stuttering tone.

Harry allowed himself to form. There was something inherently _wrong _about the man.

He stalked closer, drawing shadows to him, slightly shrouding himself in the comforting substance.

"It is not here master! I see only its Reflection!"

Quirrell had no stutter, and his tone was angry, impatient.

The hissing voice returned, startling the Professor.

"Turn! He is here!"

Quirrell spun, and Harry saw the fear in his eyes, before they rested on him.

The fear subsided, replaced by a sneer.

"Ahh, the Castle ghoul. Your repulsive presence is confusing. How did you get past all those traps?"

His eyes flickered upward, toward his ear, as the hissing voice screeched in it, "It is him! He has it, kill it now!"

Quirrell arched his brow, slight confusion marring his face.

"I told you! Albus is away, this is merely his pet beast."

Quirrell turned back to the enormous mirror behind him.

"Look boy, rest your eyes upon one of the strangest artifacts this world has ever created."

Harry glanced passed Quirrell, expecting to see the same thing he always did when looking upon a mirror.

He yelped and stepped back as staring straight back at him, was his reflection.

Recovering, he leaned toward the magnificent structure, enamored with his appearance.

It was strange, truly seeing yourself for the first time. Dumbledore had created a magic painting of what he'd looked like when he first arrived at Hogwarts, and Harry had first seen it a few months ago, but he had been assured he no longer looked anything like the ghoulish monster that had snarled back at him.

Instead he gazed into piercing emerald eyes. A hint of mischief lay behind them.

A stylish military haircut rested atop handsome features; a boon of his affliction, creatures of the night such as he were, after all, built to lure the unwitting.

Behind him stood two adults he barely recognized. The man looked to be an older version of Harry, only wearing circular glasses, and without the rather obvious lightning bolt scar running from his forehead, over his right eye, and down onto his cheekbone.

The woman had red hair, and kind green eyes. Both walked up behind Harry and placed hands on his shoulders, smiles adorning their gentle faces.

Harry felt comfort wash over him, and could feel their hands as they consoled him.

Turning away from the mirror he saw no trace of the couple.

Harry frowned, returning his gaze to the reflection on the mirrors surface.

Both adults continued to smile at him, as another figure walked from the side of the mirror.

Harry squinted at the approaching person, and was confused to see that whenever he tried focusing on it, its features seemed to elude him.

Despite the clear figure before him, for some inexplicable reason he couldn't identify the color if it's hair, or eyes, nor even the features of its face.

It made Harry scowl. It stood right in front of him, and he could see it clearly!

The figure hugged his reflection, holding him tightly.

Harry could feel the warmth of the embrace.

The adults behind him smiled deeper, the woman joining the hug, while the man looked Harry right in the eyes, and ruffled his hair.

Harry's reverie was interrupted by the cold voice of Quirrell, tearing him from the vision.

"Do you see it boy? Do you see the stone?"

He had stepped closer to harry, Who gagged as death washed over him again.

Quirrell continued, "I can see it, here in my hand, and yet it eludes me still. I know it holds the Answer!"

He was irate, and began pacing around the Mirror, peering behind it, as the hissing voice continued to whisper into his ears.

He appeared annoyed with the voice, occasionally muttering a response, "He can't have it master, I see it myself!"

Harry turned his gaze back to the cheery scene in the mirror.

Harry knew what he was looking at of course; he knew what his parents looked like, their dying faces burned into his memory from a decade ago.

He smiled at his parents, and glanced at the strange figure hugging him briefly, its identity continuing to elude him. Perhaps a sibling he'd never met?

The thought made Harry's heart drop.

What if he'd had a brother or sister? Taken from him before it had even lived.

Harry noticed his reflection smile mischievously at him, as it patted its left pocket.

Harry emulated the gesture, and his eyes widened as he felt a solid object inside.

Reaching into his pocket he pulled out the largest, glittering Ruby he had ever laid eyes on.

It sparkled in the dim light, drawing his eyes close to it, before the hissing voice practically screeched, "There! In his hand!"

Quirrell lurched around, eyes narrowing as he glared at Harry.

"Give it to me boy!" he cried

The hissing voice continued, largely ignored by Quirrell

"Do not touch him! It is the boy!"

Quirrell grasped at Harry's hand, before whipping it back with a scream, smoke rising from his palm.

"I told you! It is Potter!" The mysterious voice hissed throughout the room.

Quirrell stood several steps away, his eyes murderously switching between his burnt palm and Harry.

"Let me look upon him!"

Quirrell faltered, stammering, "Master, you are not strong enough!"

The voice let out a blood-curdling screech, "Silence! I would look upon his face!"

Quirrell reluctantly began to pull his turban from his head, before turning so that Harry saw a repulsive face adorning the back of his bald man's skull.

The eyes were slanted, with snake pupils, it's nose non existent, mere slits above it's foul mouth.

The stench of death grew near unbearable, even for one as accustomed as Harry.

Harry whispered, his eyes widening at the face that had tormented his memory since birth. "It's you"

The face sneered, a cruel laugh escaping its mouth.

"The boy who lived? I would hardly call your existence life"

Anger was bubbling from within Harry. A savagery he hadn't felt since Albus had rescued him from the forest in Iceland was surging to the surface.

Harry had drank a drought of potion from Snape earlier in the day, and normally that could last him an entire week.

But the rage that pulsated behind his eyes drove a ferocity he'd never before felt.

Sparks of lightning seemed to coil within his veins, before lashing against his skin, clawing for release.

His emerald eyes darkened, a bloodthirsty snarl escaping his lips, as his teeth lengthened.

The voice in the back of his head clutched for control, begging him to relax.

But all Harry could hear was the cackling of this demon. All he could see was a bright red artery pulsing on Quirrell's neck, and all he could smell was the intoxicating scent of blood.

The face, still talking some nonsense, faltered, before hissing at its charge.

Harry leapt forward, as Quirrell turned. Fear spread across the Professors features, and his wand was quickly in his grasp, pointed at Harry.

A green glow spewed from its tip, slamming square into Harry's chest.

Pain spread through him, and he felt as if someone had peeled his skin apart, tweezing at his every nerve.

He roared in agony, but continued forward.

Disbelief joined the fear smeared across Quirrell's ugly face, and several other flashes of light escaped his pathetic wand.

Further Harry barrelled, ignoring the agony ripping his body apart.

He finally found his target, clamping a clawed hand on the Professors wrist, he yanked on the arm, hearing a sickening pop as Quirrell's joint failed.

His claws had broken skin, and the scent of blood further flooded his nostrils.

His other hand grabbed the front of Quirrell's robes, his claws again tearing the fragile skin beneath.

Panting heavily, Harry was in a frenzy, and in his blood lust he failed to hear the screams escaping the Professors lips, as his skin burned from the mere contact, as well as the horrific wounds being inflicted upon him.

Pulling himself up to the height of the older man, Harry lurched forward and sank his teeth deep into the throat of Quirrell, ripping at the skin, puncturing the artery.

Blood spewed from the wound, coating Harry's face red in an instant.

He violently drank, making a mess of the man beneath him, who simply sank to the floor as his life drained away.

Voices called from behind Harry, but in his state he ignored them.

Finally the gushing crimson liquid ceased to pour from the limp carcass, and Harry glanced up to see a faint white mist whip away from his head.

He glanced briefly at the withered husk beneath him, and felt little sympathy for the cretin.

Returning his attention to the fleeing mist, he watched in anger as the remnants of the demon flew away, his eyes finally landing on the figure of Albus Dumbledore and two children several meters away.

Dumbledore was casting spell after spell at the retreating mist, a look of horror on his face.

The two children however, simply looked on at Harry with utter terror.

The looks on their faces tore reality back to Harry, and immediately his thirst for blood vanished, leaving only pure disgust at the taste in his mouth.

Hunching over, he retched.

Nothing spewed forth, as his hacking cough reverberated around the enormous hall.

He fell onto his back staring up at the ceiling in defeat.

He had failed; his putrid instincts had wrenched control from him once more.

Slowly, the image of Albus face loomed over him, concern written across his features.

"Are you okay Harry?"

Harry glanced at him, but didn't answer.

He lay in a thin pool of blood; what little had escaped his repulsive teeth, soaking his shirt.

"Harry?" Albus repeated.

Harry finally whispered, "It happened Albus. You promised me."

Albus shook his head vehemently.

"You protected my students Harry. I can hardly punish you for doing the job I failed at."

Albus kneeled beside him, and with a swish of his wand, the blood smearing Harry's face was gone.

It was a simple spell, one Harry had learned months ago.

Harry shook his head, "I did it again. The potion failed."

They sat in silence for a moment, before Albus spoke gently, "Harry, the Professor was possessed by the shade of a being most evil. You yourself saw that."

Harry continued to lie there for a moment, before sitting up.

Ron and Hermione continued to stand, looking on with wide eyes from several meters away.

"It was him, wasn't it? Voldemort."

Albus nodded softly.

"I believe, Harry, that Voldemort will continue to haunt you for many years. It is no small thing you stopped him from retrieving that stone." He gestured toward the glittering Ruby that sat in a puddle of blood nearby.

"It would have allowed him to truly return. A wretched thought indeed."

Harry nodded, but he was still wrought with guilt.

"Does the thirst still drive you?"

Harry shook his head. "No. I feel only disgust." To emphasize his words he spat on the floor next to him, a grimace crossing his face.

"Then our agreement continues uninterrupted."

Albus stood, still facing Harry.

"I will come see you soon. For now, there a some students in need of medical attention I believe."

He turned and led the two wide-eyed children away.

Ron looked over his shoulder at harry as they retreated, before looking up at Albus and whispering something.

Harry lay back and closed his eyes. It had been a rather tiring day.

Hermione had been cleared from the infirmary nearly immediately, as she had no serious injuries, bar a few cuts from the cursed vines, and their debacle with the flying keys.

Ron however, had been held for several days; the chess pieces' sword had cracked his bone, severing his femur. A pretty sickening injury in truth.

Albus had sworn both students to secrecy over what they had witnessed, particularly that of the strange boy killing their former professor.

Both had agreed vehemently, particularly after Albus had told them that Harry would know if they tried to divulge his existence to anyone. He had been jokingly threatening, Harry knew, but the slightly frightened look on the children's faces certainly ensured they kept their lips sealed.

At the end of year feast, Ron and Hermione had received 20, and 15 points for Gryffindor respectively, contributing to the House cup, as well as 10 points to a boy called Neville who had apparently discovered their plans to sneak out, and tried to stop them from committing the idiotic act.

Gryffindor had pulled 10 points ahead of the previously leading Slytherin house, only to leave them completely in the dust when Dumbledore had awarded 'A mysterious benefactor of Gryffindor house' a further 50 points.

Harry had chuckled, nodding happily to the Headmaster, who quickly glanced up and twinkled his eyes at the boy sitting on a rather insulted Gargoyle.

Members of Slytherin began complaining, particularly to Snape, their head of house, who simply ignored them, while the rest of the hall cheered; any win other than a Slytherin win was a good thing.

The summer proved uneventful for Harry; with few living occupants at Hogwarts to observe or silently interact with.

A few of the faculty remained behind, and Harry found it nice being able to freely explore the castle without hiding from everyone.

He predominantly spent time with either Hagrid, who often took him into the forest, as they searched for strange creatures, or with Albus, learning the finer points of Wizardry.

Harry's pace had slowed, he didn't want to rush too far ahead in his studies, so instead he focused on trying to master that which he'd already learned, casting spells without hesitation or mistake.

Albus approved of this, stating one should learn to walk confidently before they attempt to run.

Still, Harry was far beyond that of his contemporaries, mastering the third year curriculum proved more of a challenge than that of first or second year, but he still managed.

Completing his third year exams near the end of the summer break, Albus begun tutoring Harry in fields of magic and study not readily taught at Hogwarts; even delving into some of the darker areas, citing esoteric knowledge as invaluable to one in a position such as his.

Harry had proven himself adept in Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, and even the altered 'Defence against the Dark arts' course that Albus had decided to teach him. He found History boring, Divination a waste of time, and Arithmancy to be extremely tedious, but enjoyed Runes, despite having little proclivity for the subject.

Most of his professors seemed to enjoy his company, even Snape, who must have told Harry more times than he could count that he hated his father, whom harry reminded him of.

Finally, the start of a new year had rolled around, and Harry began to notice students filling the corridors over the August weeks.

A new Defence teacher had been hired, who somehow, in Harry's opinion, appeared even more incompetent than the last; Professor Gilderoy Lockhart.

Upon the student's first lesson with him, which Harry had observed from the shadows beneath the professors desk, Harry had immediately interrogated Albus over the hiring of the Buffoon.

Dumbledore had grinned, simple stating the Board of Hogwarts had specifically requested the man, no doubt due to the tall tales spread in his books.

Harry hadn't been pleased, but he was hardly going to act on it; he didn't appreciate garbage being taught at his school, but he doubted there was anything he, or Dumbledore could do apart from watch as the mans own idiocy proved his inadequacy.

The beginning of such a process occurred one evening whereupon Lockhart and Snape, in front of the entire second year cohort, were demonstrating duelling.

Of course, the bumbling idiot had been stripped of his wand near instantly.

Stammering, he simply congratulated Snape on a remarkable performance, and stated he wouldn't underestimate the man again.

Many students had snickered at the statement, the novelty of the famed author lost on them.

Unfortunately, afterword's he had called for two students to demonstrate their own capabilities, Choosing Ron, while Snape choosing Slytherin's own Draco Malfoy.

The duel had begun rather uneventfully, as neither student were particularly partial to, nor experienced in duelling.

That changed however, when Malfoy somehow summoned a snake, a confident sneer gracing his lips.

Ron had frozen, failing to respond as the creature slithered toward him.

The crowd had grown slightly panicked, while Lockhart stepped forward, ensuring no harm to anyone, as he would deal with the now Rogue snake as it lost interest in Ron and lurched toward the crowd.

Spluttering incantations, Lockhart failed miserably at achieving anything other than a few bursts of light from his wand. Snape, it seemed had finally decided to act, and was about to cast reducto, when the snake reared up. The potions professor faltered, as even a slight miss would cause havoc on the child hidden behind the thin snake.

Harry, in the form of dark mist above the congregation, decided enough was enough, and called out to the snake.

Students and professors alike froze at the hissing sound, as it echoed throughout the large room, seemingly from nowhere.

_Hello little brother _Harry called to the snake.

It had been mid strike, facing a dark skinned Hufflepuff boy at the front of the encircling crowd.

The snake turned, as if searching for the source of the voice, flicking its tongue in and out as it searched.

_These are my friends. I would prefer you left them intact._

The snake, turned, and slithered away from the boy to the middle of the thin stage. It continued turning its head slowly, searching for the voice, but it finally responded, a quiet hiss escaping it's strange tongue.

_Of course master. I cannot smell you, what manner of brother are you?_

The fear in the room seemed only to grow as the hissing reverberated around the room. Snape had relaxed slightly, peering about the rafters, searching for who he presumed to be the culprit.

Harry again spoke to the small snake.

_I am hidden. My friends do not all appreciate my form._

The snake bobbed slightly, as if in understanding.

_If you could master, I would much prefer to be away from all these eyes._

Harry silently cast a disillusionment spell on the creature, and felt it's faint heartbeat slowly wriggle from the room. He determined to follow the small creature, guiding it out of the castle, as the large room was suddenly alight with a mix of fear and excitement at the events that had occurred.

It seemed the hysteria over Harrys 'stunt' with the snake had grown to new heights, as students claimed to hear similar hissing throughout the castle. Harry had initially assumed that such a thing was simply fear mongering amongst those that enjoyed spreading rumours, but was saddened to discover that several students had seemingly been attacked through the night, resulting in paralysis.

He had conferred with Albus, who had come to the conclusion that it must be a basilisk, who held rather unique abilities with it's petrifying gaze, including death and paralysis.

Hermione had been attacked, and lay frozen in the infirmary; Ron had been distraught. But not as much as when he discovered his younger sister Ginny had suddenly disappeared.

Strange messages had been painted in the hallways in fake blood, warning of 'The heir of Slytherins revenge' the 'mudblood purge' and claiming some girl would 'lay dead in the chamber' or some rubbish.

It had maddened Harry, who wrinkled his rose at the use of fake blood, as it assaulted his senses, and at the realisation that some creature was somehow attacking students throughout his school during the night, without his detection.

He had determined to stalk the halls at night, searching for the beast, and with luck, stumbled across a flooded hallway, watching as an enormous reptilian tail had slithered though the water into the abandoned girls bathroom.

Following the creature, Harry had found himself alone in the flooded bathroom, no sight of the impossibly large snake.

Storming around the room in frustration, he noticed a ghost floating several feet above him, simply watching him in amusement.

Turning swiftly to the ghost, he found himself staring at Moaning Myrtle. Not his favourite Ghost in the castle, by any means.

"Hello Myrtle" he said kindly.

"Hello Harry. I didn't think I'd be seeing you in here much."

There was playfulness to her voice, and also excitement. Harry had ignored this room since he first stumbled upon it last year.

"Neither did I to be honest. But I saw a big Snake come through here, don't suppose you saw where it went?"

The girl giggled, before muttering about rarely seeing big snakes anywhere other than the boys baths.

Harry pointedly ignored the comment, feeling heat reach his face.

Noticing his discomfort, the ghost giggled further, whizzing around the room.

Harry's eyes rested on a series of faucets sitting strangely on a pillar in the centre of the room. The pillar did not rise to meet the ceiling.

The head of one of the faucets was shaped as a small snake, and Harry remembered this had, after all, been the old Slytherin bathrooms, before being repurposed as a communal, female one.

Still, the motif was strange. Why only a single tap?

He turned to the floating ghost, still giggling.

"Myrtle. Do you remember anything strange about this?"

He pointed to the faucet, and Myrtle squinted at the small snakehead.

"Not really."

Harry drooped slightly, before she continued.

"But I remember there being some very strange, big yellow eyes being right where you're standing." She paused and frowned for a second, " I died as soon as I saw them actually!"

She seemed excited at the revelation, as if she had never previously thought of her death.

She launched into ramblings of being bullied, and crying in the bathrooms, but Harry wasn't paying much attention.

Shrugging, he hissed in parseltongue, _open_

The basins below the faucets began shifting, the pillar rising into the air above, revealing an inky black pit below.

Myrtle had quietened; staring down the hole, worry on her face.

Harry stepped into the void, and heard a quick 'good luck' from the ghost before he plummeted into the darkness.

His eyes easily adjusted to the lack of light; being a creature of darkness had it's benefits, and dissolved into mist as he fell, reaching the bottom swiftly.

Materialising, he found himself in a long corridor, perhaps ten meters wide.

As he walked along it, his eyes ran along a fifty odd meter long snake skin, nearly a meter and half wide.

He shuddered to think of the damage such a creature could inflict, but continued along the path.

The corridor ended with a large vault door, snakes spreading from its hinge, locking the large metal door in place.

He ordered it in parseltongue, and was pleased to see the snakes retreating on the door, releasing the latches one by one.

Suddenly a yelp sounded behind him, and Harry immediately dissolved.

He backtracked down the long corridor, only to find Ron Weasely cowering on the floor beneath Gilderoy Lockhart, who had Ron's wand in hand, pointed directly at his chest.

The oaf was proudly telling the boy he would wipe his memory, abandoning him with the owner of the huge snakeskin to their side.

Harry was about to intervene, when a sputtering of light burst from the end of Ron's seemingly broken, and taped back together wand.

The light ricocheted off the stone floor beneath them, and cracked Lockhart directly in the jaw.

Falling limp, another burst of light escaped the wand, colliding with the ceiling, and a deep rumble sounded throughout the cave, as the ceiling collapsed between Ron and where Harry now stood.

Ron gave a frightened yelp, but seeping through the cracks, Harry saw he was unhurt.

Lockhart however, was lying on his front, knocked out cold on the floor.

Ron spared him a glance before stepping to the collapsed tunnel, attempting to pull stones away.

After a few minutes of fruitlessly tugging at the large rocks, he began pounding his fists against them, shouting through the cracks.

"Ginny! Ginny are you there?"

Silence greeted him, and grief began creeping up the boys' young face.

It was a saddening sight for Harry; this boy had already faced devastation.

He continued yelling into the collapsed tunnel, again pulling with all his might against the tunnel, "I'm coming Ginny! I'll help you!"

Harry pulled away from the sight. He knew the boy couldn't move the stones. His wand was clearly malfunctioning, and he had nowhere near enough strength to do so by hand.

He pulled away, listening to the shouts grow distant, again finding the vault door, now wide open.

Beyond it lay a series of large tunnels, partially flooded with a dark liquid.

It was a series of pipes and drains.

Harry continued along them, following his instinct as to which tunnel to explore.

Eventually his heightened senses picked up a very, very faint human heartbeat, and Harry rushed toward it, scattering the shadows that had coalesced around him.

He stumbled upon a huge cavernous room, two drainpipes spewing water into large waterways that ran alongside a thin walkway, leading to the huge scowling visage of a bearded man.

Harry recognised the face of Salazar Slytherin.

Lying unceremoniously before the carved face was a small, ginger girl, and Harry rushed forward. As he crossed the thin walkway, giant stone snakeheads rose from the water, rumbling as they did so, following Harry's path.

As he reached the slumped girl, he felt her pulse, noting how weak it was.

The sight of her exposed neck briefly sent a flood of lust through Harry's mind, but he swiftly shook it off. To the girls side was a small black book, and Harry reached for it.

Written in neat, black ink on the first page, was 'Tom Marvolo Riddle'

As he flicked through it's empty pages, a figure appeared behind him, and Harry launched up, turning to face the intruder.

A young, handsome boy faced him passively. Harry guessed he'd be in his final year at Hogwats.

"The famous Harry Potter" A slight sneer graced the boy's lips.

Harry strained, yet found absolutely no pulse or heartbeat from the boy, putting him on edge.

"I don't recognise you." Harry said as he inclined his head in greeting.

"What house are you from? And how did you get down here?"

The boy just laughed.

And walked, with his hands behind his back, passed Harry.

As he did so, he leaned down and picked up the collapsed girls wand.

Turning it in his hands, he kept his eyes trained up at the snarling face of Slytherin.

"They claim you defeated me. You're revered amongst these pathetic worms."

He gestured to Ginny's near lifeless form.

"The boy who died to defeat Lord Voldemort."

Harry narrowed his eyes at the boys words.

"You're hardly Voldemort. I've seen him with my own eyes."

The boy turned to him, a vicious look scarring his otherwise handsome face.

"I am his beginning. His first steps into glory."

He raised his wand, writing out the name from the Diary in scratchy, floating letters, before reordering them to say, 'I am Lord Voldemort'.

His eyes still narrowed at Harry, he opened his mouth to speak, but faltered when Harry immediately stepped forward, lashing his hand straight at the boys face.

As his hand sailed through the air, his fingernails grew and hardened into his beastlike claws.

Snarling at the boy, anger, and a searing pain seeping from the scar on his forehead, he watched as his swipe sailed straight through the boy, as if he were a ghost.

Taken aback, the boys eyes widened, as if failing to comprehend what just happened.

Harry snarled again and tried to grip the boys throat, only to find his had again pass through the boys visage.

Finally composing himself, the boys eyes again narrowed, and his words came out as hisses.

"You insolent little worm. I will teach you how to treat the Heir of Slytherin!"

He turned, before calling out in parseltongue to the giant carved statue

_Come, my beast, and purge this place of the false heir!_

A deep grinding sound echoed throughout the chamber, and the snarling statues mouth slowly opened.

Harry had hardly a second to react, as the huge gaping maw of a basilisk launched from the mouth directly at him, Harry cast a concussive spell at the lifeless body of Ginny, knocking her out of the way, as the huge beast clamped its enormous fangs down on his shoulder, smashing him into the tiled floor beneath him as it's momentum carried them.

Harry bellowed in pain as he was scraped against the floor, feeling his skin tearing with the friction of the massive writhing body pushing him against the tiles.

Still screaming, he clawed at the creatures eyes, and gnashed his now elongated teeth, desperately trying to weaken it's grip.

Further they barrelled, back into the winding tunnels of the pipe network, as Harry clawed at the beast's eyes.

His arms were just too short to reach, his long claws scratching uselessly against it's strengthened scales.

Feeling the beast tighten its jaw, crushing his bones beneath its huge teeth, he dissolved, fleeing from the beast, back to the main chamber.

The creature turned as best it could in the comparatively narrow tunnels, somehow following the fleeing black mist.

Bursting back into the chamber, he found a laughing Tom, who called out to him.

"See how the infamous Potter pails against the might of Slytherin!"

Harry reformed, gritting his teeth, turning around to see the huge snake approaching. Its eyes weren't effective against him, thankfully, and he neither died, nor was paralysed by its terrible yellow gaze.

As it again struck at him, blindingly fast, Harry narrowly dodged by dissolving, before reforming just above its head, again clawing at its eyes; at the very least he would remove its worst weapon against mortals.

The writhing mass shook as soon as he made contact, snapping its head wildly, trying to buck him, and Harry only managed to lightly scrape a claw against one of his eyes before he was flung from the creature, colliding with the stone walls of the chamber, somewhat dazed and exhausted from the pain in his shoulder and back.

He fell into a shallow pool of water, no more than knee high.

Rolling over, he expected to be immediately assaulted by the Giant snake, and so was relieved to hear the vile creature screech in pain.

Looking over to the beast, he noticed a bright red bird clawing at its eyes as it whipped its head around.

Tom roared in anger from his position a few hundred feet away.

The bird, Albus Phoenix is seemed, separated from the beast, before dropping what appeared to be the sorting hat on edge of the tiles near where harry sat weakly.

It squawked, and flew back toward the tunnels, again leaving harry to the beast.

But he was relieved, the Creature had managed to assist him significantly, although he would have preferred some form of weapon other than a hat from the magical bird,

Pulling himself toward the tiles, and the hat, he heard Tom calling out to the Basilisk

_You can still smell him, my pet. Remove this filth from your masters Chamber!_

Finally reaching the hat, Harry panted deeply.

He was exhausted, and one look at his shoulder was more than enough to know he was going to pass out soon. He wasn't frightened of death; he knew this beast, no matter how powerful, did not have the means of dealing such a final blow.

But he knew what would happen to Ron's sister if he fell.

The beast, still screeching in pain at the loss of its eyes, viciously whipped its head around, snapping its jaws as if searching for Harry.

His eyes drooping, Harry faintly saw the glittering of silver from within the hat, and reached for it.

His hand rested on a smooth wooden handle, and as he weakly pulled, a glittering metal sword, encrusted with gems held aloft in it.

It was a beautiful object, some of the most magnificent craftsmanship he had ever seen.

His arm shuddered, barely able to hold the sword up any longer.

He turned to see the Beast had finally got hold of his scent, and was lurching towards him.

Shifting his arms as quickly as he possibly could, he narrowly managed to get the point of the sword toward the beast's maw, before crumpling at its crashed into him with full force.

He heard crunching noises as his strengthened bones made contact with the stone walls of the cabin at an alarmingly fast speed, and felt a searing pain spread across his nose as one of the fangs sliced horizontally across it.

He lay there for a moment, his breath softly rattling, as he drew shallow gulps.

Tom was cheering, leering at the remains of the boy, up until the giant best slid away and collapsed into the water with Harry, the shining sword lodged through the underside of its mouth, and out its skull.

It lay unmoving, and Harry couldn't help but feel triumphant.

The cheers ceased, replaced by a sour look and silence, before Tom walked over to Harry, and sneered down at him.

"You're too late for the girl, she'll be dead in seconds."

Harry looked up at him absently, trying to will himself to move, the triumph rapidly fading.

"I've been feeding off of her for months. When I'm done I'll once more have a body, and then I'll kill you myself."

Harry shuddered, reaching his senses out to the nearby girl. Her pulse was essentially non-existent, a single, faint beat every few seconds.

He willed himself do dissolve, and fly over to her, but only managed a few meters, before collapsed solidly onto the tiles.

His clothes were drenched in a mixture of blood and water.

Most of his bones were shattered, and his flesh was holding together tenuously at best.

He needed blood.

He began to crawl towards her with his only non-broken fingers, pulling his limp body closer and closer.

Tom slowly followed, leering at him the entire way.

As he grew nearer, the scent of blood picked up, and began intoxicating his mind.

His panic rose, as he thought for a brief moment that he might accidentally kill the girl he was trying to save in his bloodlust.

He breathed in his nose again, a rattling sound, and found the trail leading not to the lifeless girl, but to the diary laying next to her.

A surge of strength rippled through his mangled limbs at the scent, invigorating him.

He felt his twisted muscles protest as they tensed, lunging toward the book.

Toms taunting briefly ceased, before he began aggressively questioning him.

"What are you doing?! Get away from it"

Harry ignored him, bringing the book to his face.

He breathed in, and a the scent of toxic, tainted blood tore through his mind.

He chomped down, and thick inky looking liquid began surging from the punctures, dribbling into his mouth.

The taste was horrible, but the feeling of euphoria rippled through him as he felt the blood seeping through his body, mending his wounds together in a cacophony of bliss.

Tom had begun screaming, and bursts of light were tearing through his ghostly appearance.

He collapsed to his knees, clutching toward harry, and the diary. He managed to grasp at Harry robes for a brief moment, yanking them, but Harry just chomped down harder, reveling in the gushing liquid flowing through him, dribbling down his jaw.

Finally, Tom grew still, and the steady flow of inky blood trickled to a halt.

Harry leant back, contentment flooding through him.

He stared up at the ceiling as he heard a gasp sound nearby. It appeared, than Ginny had not only survived, but awoken.

He ignored the girl, as she peered around her, fear marring her pretty face.

He could feel his twisted leg righting itself, and heard a satisfying click as the shattered bone righted itself.

Black blood oozed from his open wounds, but they clung to his skin, coating the breaches. It was a fantastic ability to have, Harry absently thought to himself, if a little uglier than healing magic, which rarely left a trace of any injury.

Harry's latent healing abilities, while much more impressive in terms of preserving him, as they began healing immediately, and passively so long as he had enough blood, tended to leave scars.

He felt a dull pain throughout his body, alerting him to that fact that very little of it had remained intact from the encounter with the enormous basilisk.

Ginny suddenly leaned over him, a terrified expression on her face.

Her voice was soft, and a little scratchy "Are you okay mister?"

He gently nodded, lifting an arm to try and wipe the blood from his mouth. He doubted it would be a particularly friendly appearance.

As he lifted it, pain shot through his forearm, and he saw his exposed bone sticking through his skin at an odd angle.

Ginny followed his surprised gaze, and her face paled.

He quickly lowered his arm from view.

She looked at him, as he tried sitting up, clearly awed at the complete havoc that his crippled frame was, and how he was somehow still moving.

"I'm fine, I promise. Can you do me a favour?"

Her eyes were glued to his shoulder wound, and harry sighed absently.

"I would do it myself, but I don't think I have the strength. Could you use your wand to send a message to the headmaster?"

She nodded, but kept her eyes focused solely on his shoulder.

He couldn't blame her, it was a mess.

He fell back hard as he heard her mutter some incantation, and his world went black.

He awoke in a room that was far, far too bright. Bordering on pure white, he squinted as he peered around, slowly recognising the infirmary.

He tenderly wiggled, testing his body.

He felt fine, no noticeable injuries, and no pain.

Looking beneath the quilts that covered him, he saw his alarmingly naked body, in perfect condition below, albeit with a few more grisly scars here and there, in the places where the damage had been especially devastating.

His fingers explored the mass of scar tissue on his right shoulder, and he was startled when a soft voice called from a small distance away.

"He's awake!"

Harry whipped his eyes in the direction of the outburst, his still slightly disoriented eyes falling on two ginger figures rapidly approaching.

He panicked a little, and was about to dissolve away when a comforting hand rested on his shoulder.

Again turning, he saw Albus sitting next to his bed, a gentle smile gracing his features.

"It's okay Harry. They've been in here for days. They've all seen you."

Still slightly startled, the panic refused to completely leave him, despite Albus' words.

"Thank you!" the words escaped the young girls mouth very quickly, and she leaned down and hugged harry, her neck right in front of his mouth.

Harry's eyes darted to Albus, sheer terror flooding them, only for Albus to chuckle.

His face hot, he stammered in response.

Ginny leaned away and Harry saw she too had pink flooding her face.

Ron, who stood behind her, recognising the boy, widened his eyes

"It's you! You saved my sister?"

He exclaimed loudly, shock clearly dominating his mind.

Harry didn't respond, still completely struck by the strange situation.

Albus deigned to speak for him.

"Indeed. With the sword of Godric Gryffindor no less. An impressive feat for sure." His eyes twinkled as he watched Harry, pride bursting forth.

"You're that thing aren't you?" Ron's words were a mix of fear and excitement, and Harry's face dropped slightly.

"Now Mr Weasely, that's no way to speak to a fellow student."

Ron reddened, and stared at the floor.

"I'm sorry sir, I didn't mean to offend you." It was clear he wanted to say more, but was holding his tongue.

Harry couldn't help but snort at being called Sir.

He was, after all, the same age as the boy.

After a brief back and forth between them, Harry finally speaking to the boy and his sister, Albus shooed them away, claiming he needed his rest. In truth, Harry was fine, as strong as he'd ever been, but he was happy for the respite; he was definitely not used to talking with humans. Well, apart from some of the professors, but they were much different than the kids.

They returned to the bushy headed figure laying in a bed nearby, who Harry recognised as the recently paralysed Hermione.

"Once again, I find myself thanking you for protecting my students Harry."

The ageing wizard stroked his beard as he talked, and Harry couldn't help but think it gave the man a very wizened appearance.

"You didn't wipe his memory?" Harry simply asked

Albus shook his head gently, "There was no need, he's a kind-hearted boy. He was a little terrified at first, but I explained the situation. As far as I'm aware, he and Hermione haven't told anyone of what they saw in front of the mirror or Erised. I suppose now we will have to see if his younger sister maintains success rate."

Harry nodded, glancing over at the small group.

Suddenly, a thought came to his mind "Lockhart" before he could even finish the word, Albus interrupted, "Has been dealt with." His eyes were steeled slightly, and again Harry nodded. "Thank merlin."

Albus smiled at the expression. It was a wizard term, and it pleased him to see the young boy use it.

"Now my boy, I must tell you."

Harry watched the old man, who paused, arching his brow.

"It appears you have grown significantly. I guess the enriched blood inside that diary proved extremely nutritional for you strange diet."

Harry squinted in confusion.

Albus chuckled, "You're both taller, and a little older, in appearance. Though no doubt you will have to take my word for it. He held a mirror up for Harry, who snorted as he stared at the vacant bed in the reflection.

"You've also got a brand new addition to your collection." He frowned sadly as he gestured to Harry's face.

Harry lifted his hand to his face, his hands immediately resting on the horizontal scar running under his left eye, ending just across the bridge of his nose.

Harry shrugged, smiling at his professor.

It wasn't like he didn't already have a large scar running down his face.

Third year at Hogwarts had proven to hold both the happiest, and saddest moments in Harry's life.

At first, he had found fast friendship with the new Defence teacher Remus Lupin, whom, he had discovered was a werewolf.

Initially he couldn't help but instinctively sneer contemptuously at the creature, who were often viewed as lesser amongst Harry's ilk.

But Dumbledore had been rather brazen about the boys youth, and the fact that he himself had attended Hogwarts, while inflicted with his disease.

The news had brought Harry some grief, and sympathy.

Once Albus had introduced them, and Harry learned as well of his friendship with his father, they had grown close.

Lupin taught Harry much of the dark arts, and countering it, and as such had surpassed even his already impressive level in his other subjects. He had completed his OWL in Defence within the first quarter of the year, and followed it with an OWL in Transfiguration and charms not a few months later.

On nights with a full moon, he would join Lupin as they romped around the woods, play fighting with the rampaging beast to distract him from harming the innocent inhabitants of the forbidden forest.

Lupin had cried after the first, revealing such a night had reminded him that as a child, Harry's father, and a few other friends had became animagi in order to join him on the full moons.

Harry had found the revelation comforting, and told Lupin he would be more than happy to continue the tradition.

Lupin laughed, and said he'd need to think up a name for the newest Marauder.

While Harry thoroughly enjoyed his year, It had proved rather problematic for the regular students, who it seemed were fairly tormented by the presence of Dementors, searching for some escaped criminal.

The ethereal beings were somewhat unnerving, but they couldn't even detect Harry's presence, so he had little to fear from them.

The students however, found the entire experience extremely difficult, as the Dementors ravenously searched for loosened mass murderer.

According to the Ministry of magic, the man, Sirius Black, had last been sighted in the Scottish highlands, not far from where Hogwarts stood, and it was believed he was going to assault the school.

Harry thought it was a fairly ridiculous theory, what would a mass murderer want with a school? Particularly if it was far more defended than the majority of the wizarding world.

When Harry had made this joke to Lupin, the man had found little humour in it, Telling Harry he should be careful, and keep his ear to the ground.

That had surprised him, Lupin rarely found anything to warn Harry about, even the 'dangerous' creatures of the forbidden forest were a point of humour for the two powerful beings.

It wasn't until later, whereupon he found Lupin struggling with a shaggy black dog in the shrieking shack, savagely attacking a small rat in the corner that he realised the mans reticence.

Sirius Black was, according to the wizarding world, the man responsible for betraying Harry's parents.

Initially, Harry had been furious, and contemplated sucking the gaunt man dry.

Luckily, it turned out, Lupin stopped him, and explained the situation. Unfortunately, in the process, the true culprit, the Rat known as Wormtail, or Peter Pettigrew, managed to worm his way out of the room, while the other two were distracted with avoiding the monstrous anger that was Harry.

Harry had immediately retreated into himself, feeling horrid for allowing the putrid rat to escape, though both Lupin and Sirius, who it turned out, was his legal godfather, had forgiven him, displaying a patience and comfort Harry knew he himself could rarely demonstrate.

And so his pack had grown one further, and for a brief few days Harry couldn't have been happier.

Until one full moon when the three of them descended into the forest, some nosy student had followed the growls, and witnessed Lupins transformation.

The Hogwarts board had immediately, despite Albus' attempts, removed him. And so Harry was once again, practically alone.

It crushed him, saying goodbye to both his Godfather, and Lupin.

They promised they would always be nearby, and would write to him, but aggressively stood firm saying he must remain at Hogwarts and complete his education. Harry had asked where they would go, And Sirius had mirthfully replied that they would go wherever the Law couldn't find him, until at least, his name was cleared, where he would regain custody of the boy, and they could try living in Grimauld place; Sirius' family home. Harry had been assured that the place was suitably large, and gloomy for a creature of the night, making him smile slightly.

The last words he heard from his two mentors, was his official induction into the Marauders, where they bestowed upon him the title Longtooth.

Harry had carved the name into his favourite alcove in his private room, followed by Padfoot, Prongs, and Moony, as well as on the head of his large bed.

Summer proved a lonely time for Harry, had he was tormented by frequent mood swings, which he was assured by both Albus, and an embarrassed Snape, that they were natural, and he was simply maturing.

He found he could control his latent abilities with precision, despite feeling voraciously thirsty far more often. He was further assured this would be reigned in as he completed his growth, though the yearning still worried the boy.

Unlike his natural abilities, his spell casting abilities were affected quite poorly by the maturation. He didn't lose his ability to cast them, and he never accidentally cast the wrong spell, but he found controlling the amount of intent he poured into each one varying at best, and downright destructive at worst.

Trying to simply light a candle could result in a blazing inferno spewing from his fingertips, while trying to cast Aguamenti to quickly put out the fire might result in the entire room being suddenly flooded completely.

To his shame, he resorted to practicing spells and charms outside in the forest exclusively, until he was sure he could again control himself.

His regular studies continued nicely; being a fourth year who had already completed 4 OWLS was a very good position to be in. If he wasn't worried about his casting abilities, he would probably finish the remainder over the summer also.

In the subjects he had passed, he was reading the content of a seventh year students, though due to his inability to practice with any degree of control, he was limiting himself to theoretical studies only.

The summer ended, despite his near depression, rather quickly, and he found himself, on the night of August 30th, called into Dumbledore's office.

Upon entering, he saw Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape already seated in two armchairs, facing the headmaster, who lounged, placing a lemon sherbert in his mouth.

As Harry entered, he gestured to the bowl of the sweets, arching a brow.

Harry grinned, "If you've got a bloodpop?"

Albus opened a draw, and rolled the aforementioned sweet across the large desk.

Harry greedily snatched the lolly, shredding the wrapping and placing it in his mouth.

McGonagall frowned, she had always been very concerned over the sheer number of sweets Albus consumed.

"Well, Harry."

Harry waited for the wizard to continue.

"We find ourselves at the beginning of another year."

He paused, looking at harry, as if expecting an answer.

Harry simply nodded, in confusion.

Albus inclined his head, continuing, "Snape tells me your control has grown significantly these past few years. You're needing less and less of the drought per week?"

It wasn't entirely true. Harry HAD improved his control significantly, but recently he found it was nearly as bad as it had ever been.

"Not exactly sir. I'm changing, and it's quite hard to control at the moment."

He scrunched his face, he seriously hated his affliction sometimes. Occasionally a breeze would hit a student's neck, and the ensuing scent would drive Harry wild for a moment. He was surprised he hadn't accidentally swooped down and devoured some poor innocent student yet. The thought made him shudder.

Albus nodded in understanding. "I have notified of this, but it is my understanding that despite these craving being stronger than ever, you've yet to come close to acting on them?"

Harry nodded, his face still scrunched. It was true, but it was still an uncomfortable truth. He had restrained himself, but it felt like barely.

"I have no doubt, this is largely due to your current emotional circumstance. You're distressed over the loss of Lupin, and Sirius."

Harry's eyes widened, glancing at both McGonagall and Snape.

Albus waved his worry away.

"They have known of your godfathers innocence since I have known Harry. I share nearly everything with them."

Harry relaxed a bit. It wasn't that big of a deal, but it was still odd, his secrets being shared with the two.

He liked both of them. Well, maybe he like Snape a little less, he was needlessly cruel to some students, but he still liked the man, that didn't mean he trusted them with every bit of information he had.

Clearly, Dumbledore did, however, and Harry supposed that should be enough for him for the time being.

Albus continued, "We have been conversing over the matter, and have decided the best course of action is a introduction, so to speak."

Harry arched a brow at the old man.

"You will resume your Hogwarts instruction, as if you were a regular student. You will eat, and sit in class with the rest of your house, as a student should."

Harry shot out of his seat, and opened his mouth to speak.

Before he could get a word out, Dumbledore rolled on, "You will be, for the duration of the year, supervised under the utmost scrutiny, to ensure nothing untoward happens to any fellow students, though I somehow doubt such a thing happening."

Harry sputtered, but couldn't speak. He had no idea what to say.

"You will retain your own room, as a further precautionary motion. Besides, it would appear very strange if a student happened to notice you rarely sleep during the night.

I n terms of coursework, you will resume where you have left off, under the guise that you are trying to catch up to the other students. This will suitably explain why you aren't actively engaging in the same content as your fellow students."

Finally, Harry spoke up, "But Professor… Why?"

He didn't feel anything, but tired at the mere thought. It would only bring added stress into his life, attempting to blend in.

"Because master Potter, it has become quite clear to myself, and your professors here, that the primary cause of your unsteady magic, is that of emotional damage. Simply stating it harry, you are lonely. Your friends are gone, and even they were far too old for you. You need companionship, and I can't think of anywhere better to get it than at a school full of children your own age."

Harry was flustered; it was a little embarrassing being told you had no friends.

"We will introduce you to your fellow fourth year Gryffindors after the Welcoming feast. Of course, Mr Weasely and Miss Granger will have already met you, I would personally suggest starting there.

You will be referred to as Harry Peverell, is that clear?"

Harry nodded. The name was familiar, but in his current funk, he couldn't care to ponder on it.

Albus smiled at him. "This will be good for you Harry. It will exercise both unparalleled control, as well as potentially introduce you to a support network. If you find yourself struggling at any point, you are to immediately report to Professor Snape, understood?"

Again Harry nodded, unsure whether to be excited or terrified at the prospect.

"Sir." He responded weakly. Albus nodded.

"Will I have to eat? At the feasts I mean."

Albus chuckled, "I'm afraid so Harry. Just a little bit each meal. I'm sure you'll eventually grow used to it, but for the time being I suggest you simply east very little."

A groan overcame Harry. He had tried eating before. He could get the food down, and it would taste how he assumed regular people would taste it.

But he would feel extremely unwell until he removed it from his body, as it would sit undigested in his stomach.

He'd had a painful hour of regurgitating undigested foodstuff into an abandoned bathroom that day.

Harry sat, Nestled in between Ron Weasely and Hermione Granger. After being notified by Albus as to the situation, both had happily accepted his request, and were now staunchly defending Harry from the barrage of oncoming questions from their fellow Gryffindors.

Ginny sat nearby, occasionally glancing over with concern. Whenever Harry caught her eye, she would go red and turn away. A few of her friends had noticed, and began giggling as they elbowed her.

He simply ignored them, trying his best to appear as human as possible, occasionally answering a question that Hermione or Ron would allow through their otherwise steel defence.

Thankfully, the food hadn't appeared yet, so Harry could continue to sit quietly, dreading the moment.

He supposed, he probably fit the description of a new student, quiet and shy quite well. If only he didn't appear to be a year or two older than his fellow fourth years, and marked by pretty brutal scarring, making him appear a grizzled veteran.

Albus finally addressed the congregation, welcoming them all to the New year, and introducing the newest member of staff, Alastor Moody, the newest Defence against the dark arts Professor.

If Harry was scarred, this man simply was a walking scar. He was coated in them, a missing leg, a magical eye, he had the whole lot.

It was somewhat pleasing for Harry to see that the school board hadn't returned to employing useless fools for the subject; It seemed the scare with the dementors last year had caused a bit of alarm among the parents.

As he was introduced, he heard whispers spreading among his table '_mad eye moody'_ was a common phrase he heard.

He ignored them, giving Albus his undivided attention.

"This year, we are fortunate to be hosting a most ancient and noble Tradition in the International Wizarding Community."

He paused, and many faces looked to him with confusion and anticipation

"This year, we will be hosting, The Tri-Wizard Tournament."

The whole hall was ablaze with excited whispers.

Harry knew of the event. It had been abandoned over a century ago, due to the frequent result of death amongst its competitors.

Albus ploughed on, ignoring the buzz.

"As such, we will be hosting contingents of students from Beauxbatons Academy, and Durmstrang Institute. I sincerely hope we ensure their stay here at Hogwarts is most comfortable."

Even more excitement spread across the Hall. Ron turned to Hermione, "Are they other schools?" When Hermione nodded, he looked slightly abashed, "I never thought about other Magic schools before. Are they here in the Isles?"

Hermione looked at him as if he was insane, before whisper-yelling at him, "Of course not Ronald! Am I the only one who pays any attention in history?" Harry smiled, he had no doubt she WAS the only one who payed attention. It was an atrocious subject, unfortunately. Fantastic potential, terrible execution.

"Beauxbatons in somewhere in southern France, and Durmstrang is somewhere in northern Europe. They're both quite secretive of their locations, as I'm sure we are to wider Wizarding community."

Albus, who had paused to allow some conversation, continued, his voice rumbling through the great hall, "Due to the dangers of the tournament, only students 17 or above are permitted admittance. Any attempts to enter under this age, will no doubt fail spectacularly." Dumbledore grinned, giving a slight glance to Fred and George Weasely, who grinned back, pantomiming a bow.

"I will be personally overseeing the measures in place to prevent such attempts, and I welcome any who believe they can out fox me."

Laughs sounded through the hall, and Harry smiled. He would enjoy watching these students try their luck against the greatest living wizard.

"Our _magnificent _Ministry has decided to reintroduce this infamous event in an attempt to promote International friendship amongst our neighbors across the pond and beyond." His emphasis on 'magnificent' rang somewhat jovial, and Harry could easily detect the mirth behind the sarcastic statement. "As such, They have invested a great deal into this event, and it's appeal to the Magical community as a whole; The event has been extended from its traditional Three tasks, to Seven - Three major tasks, and several lesser, albeit equally _entertaining _challenges. Furthermore, availability of viewership over the event has been granted unconditionally; It will both be broadcast magically, and physical attendance has been far expanded - Hogwarts this year, will most overcrowded indeed."

More buzz spread through the Hall, and Albus paused, ever smiling.

"I implore our students to attend to their safety with utmost diligence; Never before has the school been host to so many external forces. You will, no doubt remain safe; Myself and our wonderful staff will remain ever vigilant, but it is always prudent to promote caution amongst you."

As Albus spoke, the hunched figure of Filch entered the hall, grunting as he walked out with a large wooden crate from a room to the side of the long Staff table.

He dragged the giant thing until it sat right in front of Albus, before he stalked away, muttering under his breath.

Dumbledore smiled mischievously, announcing to the students, "I welcome, the Impartial judge of entrance into the Tri-Wizard Tournament," He paused, waving a hand toward the large wooden crate, "The Goblet of Fire."

As he spoke, the wooden crate collapsed, revealing a large goblet. Blue fire raged from its maw, reaching several meters into the air above it.

The cup itself was meagerly decorated, a few gems encrusting its dull surface; it's metal having long since faded.

It seemed Ancient, older even than Dumbledore, Harry thought with a chuckle.

More whispers surged through the crowd.

Dumbledore continued standing before the goblet, before announcing. "And with that out of the way. I implore you, to eat!"

He returned to his seat, plates upon plates of food suddenly appeared on the table before Harry, and he grimaced down at the assortment of food.

Part of him seriously wished he were currently a few feet above, crouched upon a gargoyle, safe from the danger than was human food.

He noticed everyone else was simply engorging themselves, eyes wide at the selection, and he felt a slight nudge from Ron, who had a nervous look on his face.

He inclined his head down towards his plate, as if encouraging Harry to eat.

With extreme reluctance, Harry piled his plate with food, but only nibbled on a particularly rare bit of steak that he found was only in front of his plate, and not spread throughout the table like the rest of the foodstuffs were.

It did the trick; nobody seemed all that interested in Harry's eating habits, thankfully, and he didn't even feel too awful by the time everyone else had finished their meals.

All in all, Harry's introduction to Gryffindor went smoothly. He found he liked nearly all of his peers, and his only issue was remembering to pretend he didn't already know all of their names. Neville, although a little bit on the strange side, proved to be an even better kid than Harry had already realised, and was more than happy joining in on Harry, Hermione and Ron's conversation.

Eventually, the questions about why he didn't stay in the same common room as the rest of the kids ceased, after Harry continually replied that he wasn't sure, he'd assumed all the students were staying in rooms like his.

He had received initial envy, but eventually it simply faded, an he was welcomed, officially, into Gryffindor house.

Harry was introduced into classes with ease, and settled into his routine with sincere happiness; he found himself slowly regaining control over his use of spells, though he occasionally still had the odd mishap.

The students, believing he was desperately trying to catch up to their level, allowed him relatively private study in classes, and didn't poke their nose into why he was reading books they had no memory of learning in the years previous.

He had received plenty of offers for assistance with homework and the like, but Harry had brushed these away saying he was grateful, but that he already received extra tutoring from the headmaster.

Finally, after a few weeks of getting used to the new routine - Harry still found it extremely difficult to not fall asleep during early morning classes. – They were alerted to the arrival of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang Students.

Despite being rather excited at the prospect of foreign students - even though he had spent more than 3 quarters of his life exploring Europe - He had decided to capitalize on the cancellation of the day's lessons by retreating to his room, and sleeping.

It wasn't until hours later that he heard a bang on the door. Rousing from his silk sheets – a birthday gift from Sirius, He had called out to the intruder.

Hermione entered the dark room; its only windows were completely covered by enormous curtains, which Harry always closed when he was sleeping.

"Harry, You've missed all the introductions!" Harry sleepily glanced about the room with blurry eyes. He thought, for a moment, that this must be how people with glasses feel.

"What time is it?" he asked, his throat gravelly.

Hermione edged closer, drawing the curtains, and letting blinding light flood the room, assaulting Harry's eyes.

He hissed lightly, lifting an arm to cover his face.

Hermione turned, and upon seeing Harry's bare chest turned slightly pink, before gazing, shocked at his enormous shoulder scarring.

"Earth to Hermione?" Harry said, his arm still covering his face, unaware of the reaction.

The girl shook herself, and replied tersely "It's eleven Harry. You need to get used to being awake, it's not like it's going to stop happening anytime soon."

Harry shrugged; it was extremely difficult for him. His body's natural clock begged him to return to the comfortable sheets of his bed as soon as the sun peaked over the horizon.

He had, over the years, managed to function normally passed midday, so long as he got sleep, but the new timetable was strange. Sleeping at night felt like he was trying to turn his back on a free bucket of gold.

"Please Hermione, a few more hours? I'll get to see it all at the feast tonight won't I? I haven't slept properly in weeks." He rubbed the bags drooping under his eyes, emphasizing his point.

She glared at him, glad he'd fallen back onto his bed so his scars were no longer so obvious.

"Fine. I will let it go this once. But I'm going to be even harder on you after today! Dumbledore made me promise I'd get you into the swing of things!"

Harry grumbled, his eyes already closed, and his head retreated beneath the silken covers.

He heard Hermione walk over to the curtains, and shut them again, plunging the room into it's usual darkness.

He heard the door close, and immediately felt the sweet grasp of sleep pull him under.

A few hours later, as his blissful rest was nearing it's end, he was again roused by the sound of his door opening.

Hyper alert, he sat up straight in the bed, eyes landing on a thin figure walking over to the curtains.

"Mr Peverell." The voice was stern, and had a slight Irish lilt.

"I strongly oppose the practice of wasting a good day."

The blinds opened and Harry instinctively shied away from the encroaching light.

Except no light peered through the windows; It was dark outside.

Harry sheepishly grinned at the Lady as she stood at the foot of his bed.

"Sorry, I expected to get up around noon."

She peered down her nose at the boy, remaining silent.

He swiftly dissolved, the sheets slowly falling to the mattress where he had once suspended them.

Standing in front of his large wardrobe, he began rapidly throwing on a plain white button up shirt, and pair of narrow black pants, turning back to the professor as he did so.

"I haven't missed the feast have I?"

She remained looking away, in an attempt to give him privacy.

"Thankfully not. Students are seated at this very moment. Luckily, Albus is simply conversing with the other Headmaster and mistress, and has asked me to retrieve you from your near eternal slumber."

She finally rounded on him, her expression still stern.

"I am very tempted, Mr Peverell, to remove points from Gryffindor for your tardiness."

Harry again dissolved over to the bed, a pair of pointed black shoes in hand. He sat, and began lacing the shoes to his feet.

"I understand Professor, I will ensure it won't happen again." Standing, he glanced down at himself. He looked good, at least in his own opinion. Despite his lack of belt, or robes.

"I, Mr Peverell, will make my way to the doors to the Hall. I trust you will be able to finish dressing and meet me down there by the time I arrive?"

Harry Nodded, eyes darting around the room, searching for the remainder of his ensemble.

"Do not forget, Mr Peverell, your tie." She stated as she walked from the door.

Harry stalked around the room, finding his robe and belt easy enough, though he was tipping clothes and objects over searching for his damned tie.

How far could it possibly be? He'd only worn it yesterday!

Finally, as he absently lifted a book off his desk with a spell, he saw a glimmer of red and gold, and sighed in relief.

Quickly tying a Windsor, he dissolved, slipping beneath the crack in the door, Startling the gargoyle on the other side, and shooting along the shadows toward the great hall.

Upon reaching the large doors to the greathall, he smiled weakly to McGonagall, who appeared to just be arriving.

She turned to him, her expression still somewhat stiff.

Stepping forward, she straightened his tie, and smoothed a stray strand of hair, a motherly look in her eyes.

"Goodness Peverell, what would you do without me?" Harry chuckled, and McGonagall simply turned and pushed open the large double doors.

Her heels clacked loudly against the stone floor, drawing the attention of the entire Hall to the new arrivals.

Stepping in behind her Harry was immediately assaulted with hundreds of eyes staring at him.

A faint smell hit his nose, as if it's intoxicating aroma were luring him toward it, beckoning.

It was a flowery scent, unlike any he was used to.

It wasn't that strong, and he'd controlled himself through much worse, so he simply ignored it, and continued following the professor.

Growing uncomfortable under the scrutiny, he shrunk behind McGonagall to shield himself from the view of as many as he could.

As he walked down between the tables, he felt the scent get stronger, but by the time he arrived at his seat, he was pleased that it was still at a controllable level.

Sitting between Ron and Hermione, the latter of whom looked at him a little angrily, he gave a bashful smile, whispering to them.

"Slept in a little, sorry."

Ron grinned, retorting "I wish I had your excuse" before Hermione slapped his arm lightly, making him wince and lean away, giving Harry a wide eyed look, miming _loony_ to him.

Harry chuckled, as Albus' voice rang out through the hall.

Harry tuned out; Albus was simply welcoming the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students, and reiterating what he'd already told Hogwarts about the Tournament.

He introduced a few Ministry Officials, who were apparently assisting in the officiating of the tournament.

Meanwhile Harry was trying not to breath in through his nose, as that distinct scent continued to tickle his nostrils.

Eventually, Albus announced the feast would begin.

Students began tucking in, as Harry performed his little pantomime that he was eating, while actually just talking to his surrounding friends. He was basically an expert at it now, only having to take down a mouthful or two per meal.

Ron was talking to Neville about some new broomstick, when the scent began to flare.

Harry caught his breath, and quickly glanced up to Snape, who was sitting and chatting with the Headmaster of Durmstrang, completely unawares.

The scent continued to get stronger, completely overwhelming everything else, even the blood of those sitting right next to harry.

It was clouding his mind, coating it with lust; only for some strange reason, it wasn't blood lust. He couldn't smell, nor sense any pulse from the source, until he closed his eyes and _really _put his mind into it.

In the darkness of his closed lids he saw hundreds of bright red pumping hearts surrounding him, a series of complex of veins and arteries creating pathways, stemming from the organ.

It always unnerved Harry to do this, reducing the people around him to mere circuitry systems.

Feeling around him, he followed the intoxicating trail to a beating heart that was, it appeared, standing right behind him. He noticed the heartbeats of all those around him rapidly increasing, more so from the boys than the girls.

Quickly opening his eyes, he turned to the figure.

Immediately familiarity hit him; He had seen this figure before, though he couldn't see why. He didn't recognise her long, luscious silver hair, nor her beautiful, perfect features and her gorgeous sapphire eyes.

Shaking himself slightly, luckily it had only been a single millisecond of transfixion, he noticed she was arching her brow at him, waiting for a response.

"I beg your pardon, could you repeat?" he gambled. He had no idea if she had even spoken to him; all he had heard while his eyes were closed was the rhythmic thundering of hearts beating in his ears.

Slight shock crossed her face, she was surprised at something.

Harry simply stopped breathing. The scent alone was near enough to send him batshit insane; looking at her while breathing her in would send him on a rampage.

She tilted her head, and the flowery aura flared even stronger,

She spoke in a soft, luscious tone, "Will you be 'aving ze Bouillabaisse?" she gestured to something on the table passed Harry.

He immediately turned away from her, lifting the dish, and replying in perfect French, "Non Mademoiselle, vous l'avez peut etre."

He held the dish out to her, and her eyes widened further, before she recovered, and replaced the look with indifference.

"Et vous parlez Francais? Merci, Monsieur." She curtsied as she took the plate, her pale blue skirt swishing with the movement, dipping her head as she did so, flashing Harry with a riveting smile, before she returned to the Ravenclaw table, where her fellow Beauxbatons students sat conversing.

The overpowering lust that was swimming through Harry's mind faded somewhat, and he breathed relief.

He couldn't help but follow her figure as she swayed. Her skin was pristinely tanned. She couldn't be real; Harry was certain he was imagining things.

Turning back to his table, he noticed all the boys stared at her retreating figure, dazed expressions glazing their eyes, and a lot of the girls similarly stared, only with envy and anger trailing her every movement.

Hermione turned to Ron, and smacked his arm when she saw the dribble sliding down his chin.

"Ronald! Don't be so rude, it's not nice to stare." Her cheeks were red, and she briefly glanced back at the Silver haired girl, shooting daggers into her back.

Harry followed her look for a moment, before wrenching his attention away, feeling his lust overcome him briefly.

This girl – no – this woman, was something strange. She drew him in unlike anything he had ever experienced. If she stood next to a bucket of pure, fresh blood, he would stumble over himself to kick the bucket away and clutch at her desperately.

He shuddered at the thought. This was unhealthy.

A few of the Gryffindor girls seemed to notice he wasn't completely transfixed, and drooling at the girl, and were shooting him warm smiles.

He weakly smiled back. If only they knew.

He again turned, attempting to find the eyes of Professor Snape.

This time, he managed, and the Professor arched his brow at the boy.

Harry raised his eyebrows quickly and shook his head.

Snape immediately excused himself from his conversation, and nodded towards Dumbledore as he walked out the side entrance of the hall.

Harry watched him go, and glanced to the headmaster, who nodded, while his face was slightly scrunched.

Harry stood quickly, mumbling about needing to visit the bathroom, practically running the distance to the entrance.

Once through the doors he dissolved into shadow, and made his way to the dungeons.

Finding Snape rifling through his Potion storehouse, Harry materialised, panting slightly.

Snape glanced over his shoulder at the boy, sternly calling out as he continued his search.

"I wasn't expecting you to need another batch for a few days Peverell. What happened?"

Harry sat in front of the desk, and sighed, glancing toward the ceiling.

"I'm not sure professor. I've been fine. The best control I've ever had. Some Beauxbatons student just set me off."

He nervously stated the last part, and Snape glanced at his from the corner of his eyes as he begun mixing several ingredients into a cauldron.

"It was a particular witch?"

He frowned as he worked. He always had a slight sneer on his face.

"Well it definitely became unbearable the closer she came. I couldn't concentrate on anything while she stood near me." His face grew extremely hot as he admitted it.

"I didn't want to drink her… I…"

he trailed off, and Snape looked away from his cauldron, his eyes trained on the boy.

"Yes, Mr Peverell?"

His face was burning by this point, and he crewed his face together.

"I don't know sir, I just felt completely out of control."

The cauldron continued bubbling away, as Snape narrowed his ayes at the boy.

"Well you didn't attack her, did you Peverell? Sounds like you controlled it to me."

He returned his attention to the cauldron, pouring some of the contents into a glass vial, before dropping in some leafy substance, and stirring.

"Hardly sir. It was… Intoxicating." The memory fell into his mind, and his eyes glazed over. "I couldn't breathe, she was suffocating."

Snape chuckled. It was an unpleasant sound.

"I see. Drink your tonic, I will prepare something else, if the witch truly bothers you so?"

Harry nodded Voraciously, downing the small glass vial in a single gulp.

As always it sat in his stomach uncomfortably.

Snape half turned back to the storage room, before saying, "It will render you essentially completely disinterested in all females as it sits in your system, Mr Peverell."

Harry's eyes widened as he looked to the greasy man.

"What do you mean?!" The alarm in his voice caused a sly grin to spread across the potions professor's face.

"You say you had no interest in 'drinking' her, as you put it."

Harry slowly nodded.

"I think, Mr Peverell, you are simply arriving at an age where you will begin taking extreme notice in the females around you."

Harry felt like his blood was boiling beneath the skin in his face.

"I'm not an idiot sir, I know that's happening. This is different!"

Snape continued grinning.

"I take it you would prefer to not suppress your natural hormones then?"

Harry shook his head quickly.

"I'm more than competent at resisting such things professor. This girl is different. She isn't normal." Harry steeled his gaze. He had to get his point out.

Snape, still grinning, replied, "Silver hair? Tall?" Harry nodded, and again Snape chuckled. "No surprise there Peverell, the girl is as you say, not 'normal'. She is a Veela."

Harry slightly relaxed in his seat.

"A Veela? As in the things from Slavic folklore?"

Snape tilted his head in affirmation.

Harry slowly nodded, understanding dawning on him. He had, after all, read of the creatures in his Magical creatures studies.

"It didn't feel at all how I thought it would then sir."

Snape tilted his head to the side, arching a brow.

"Well my texts said the allure of a Veela would leave me completely docile, and susceptible to their whims. I didn't really feel like that at all, only… Uncontrollable. And I didn't feel any compulsion do what she asked, I only did so to get her away so I could clear my head."

Snape stayed quiet for a moment, before musing. "Perhaps their interactions with your ilk are different? I wouldn't be surprised if your species were related after all."

That made sense, Harry thought. Unfortunately he'd never come across another creature like himself, and as far as he was aware, neither had Albus.

Sure they'd both met plenty of 'magical vampires', but those things were mere husks in comparison; repulsive creatures of pallid complexion and little wit. Harry was something almost unheard of in the Magical world. There were allusions to what he was in Muggle folklore, but even these were inaccurate at best.

And so harry didn't take anything to suppress his hormones; Instead, he simply avoided the girl at all costs.

As soon as he picked up the faint floral scent, he would march away as fast as he could, sputtering excuses to anyone he found himself in the company of.

He avoided Feasts, and occasionally skipped classes. He had explained himself to Albus, and even McGonagall, when she had barged into his room one afternoon after skipping a transfiguration class that apparently had some Beauxbatons students sitting in on.

She had reluctantly accepted, and Harry had several meeting with Albus, were he assured the headmaster that he was still more than on top of his school work, and simply believed he must exercise restraint.

He had received more than a couple wry grins from faculty when he explained the situation. It seemed Snape had, very uncharacteristically, spread gossip amongst the staff.

The days flew by, with Harry hiding in his room more and more. He received visits from his Gryffindor friends quite often, who had all been told he was simply ill, and was taking lessons and meals in the room.

Several of which, who had not previously known where his room was, had expressed awe at the fact that his private quarters was next door to the headmasters office itself, and had similar protections in the form of password requiring gargoyles to enter.

Of the few classes he attended, One in particular snagged his memory. In a defence against the Dark Arts class, Where the students had been learning about 'the unforgivables', three curses that were strictly forbidden for anyone to use, The Professor, Mad eye Moony, had singled Harry out, staring at him for a long time.

"Mr Peverell. An interesting name, do you know the history behind it?"

Harry shook his head. He had, by this point, remembered about the story of the brothers, but it didn't seem all that important.

Moody nodded at him, continuing his creepy stare.

"would you mind, Mr Peverell, being our next volunteer for a demonstration of defence against the Imperius Curse?"

Harry nodded. It was the compulsion spell. Harry had, unintentionally learned to how to cast the spell, when he had thought of his latent compulsion ability, and attempted to morph it into a spell. He had swiftly dropped his interest in it as soon as he realised where he was nearing.

Standing in front of the class, as several other students had been throughout the lesson, Moody suddenly pointed his wand at him, and muttered 'Imperio' under his breath.

Harry felt the spell hit him, and a warm feeling clouded his mind.

"Now, Mr Peverell, get up on the desk."

Harry just stood there, and glanced at the professor.

Moody waited a moment, before narrowing his eyes.

"I said, Mr Peverell, get up onto the desk."

He spoke clearly, enunciating each word.

Harry blinked.

The proffessor tried casting it several more times, growing noticeably more irate after each failed attempt.

Finally, Moody lowered his wand, a look of frustration on his face.

"Well. That was very well done, Peverell. Ten points to Gryffindor for that effort."

Harry had returned to his seat, as many students leaning toward his desperately asking how he'd defended against the spell.

Harry shrugged, an apologetic look on his face, saying "I have no idea, I heard what he was saying, but I didn't feel anything."

The other kids looked at him in awe, and Neville spoke up "You can hear him? I just suddenly get the urge to do things. They seem like logical ideas at the time."

The rest of the class passed, with Moody occasionally shooting Harry with suspicious glances, as he muttered to himself.

Eventually, Harry found himself sitting at his desk, reading up on some NEWT level transfiguration on the night of Halloween, when the door opened. Turning to the entrance, he saw a heavily bearded man smiling as he leaned in the doorway.

"Harry my boy, I think it's about time you returned to the land of the living."

Harry swivelled his chair, fully facing the headmaster.

"What's the occasion, sir?"

Albus grinned, "Do you not listen to my speeches anymore Harry? Tonight we're announcing the champions for the tournament!"

Harry shrugged, "Oh, that's pretty cool. Who's the favourite for Hogwarts?"

Albus gave a wry smile, chuckling "I don't think it would be appropriate for a member of staff to divulge such information."

His smile spread, "However, I have heard that odds are on Cedric Diggory. You know the boy?"

Harry nodded absently, glancing about the room for his shoes.

"Yeah, I've spoken to him a few times. Ron's dad and his are friends, so he sometimes swings by to chat with the Weaselys."

Albus continued smiling.

"Well, Harry, the feast will be beginning in a few moments, so I suggest you hurry."

Harry quickly waved his hand, casting tempus, and saw the time.

Albus disappeared in a flash of fire, his favourite party trick, and Harry cursed, flittering about the room, dressing in black pants, and a white school shirt. He couldn't be bothered with his robes, so he simply summoned his tie to him, and tied it on.

Glancing down at himself, he dissolved and flew toward the greathall.

Arriving at the doors, he found them once again shut. Cursing his luck, he pushed against them as gently as he could, only to feel his heart drop as it still made a loud creaking noise.

Ignoring the faces peering at him, he hurried over to his usual spot on the Gryffindor table, where a few people shuffled over to make way for him.

He received a bunch of smiles, and Hermione whispered to him "Glad to see you're better." She gave him a pointed stare, and Harry shrugged.

The faint smell was present, but far weaker than he remembered.

Perhaps he'd passed the worst of it?

Albus again welcomed the students, and announced the feast.

The students ate, but nervously so, chattering to one another excitedly, giving last minute predictions.

After a tense half hour of eating, Albus finally put them out of their misery, and summoned the goblet to the centre of the raised platform.

Smiling, a twinkle in his eyes, he announced. "And so, my children, we arrive at the hour. Many have placed their name in this goblet." He paused, glancing toward the Gryffindor table, "Many have tried to surpass my age circle." Laughter rang through the hall, as Fred and George Weasely grinned sheepishly, their friends thumping them on the backs.

Albus continued, "And yet now we will discover, which among you holds the valour, courage, and wit required to compete in this most esteemed tournament. Those fortunate few who are chosen, I wish you the best of luck. The upcoming tasks will prove most difficult. If your name is chosen, I ask that you follow Mr crouch here" he gestured to a Ministry official in a bowler had, and black muggle suit. "Into the next room to my left." He pointed further, to a small doorway off the side of the staff table.

The entire hall was silent, dripping with anticipation. Dumbledore glanced at the goblet, and shouted "And so the Choosing begins!"

The candles in the Hall dimmed, and the blue inferno spewing from the goblet grew, angrily sputtering, before it briefly turned a light green colour, a small ember shot from it's maw, and Albus deftly snatched it from the air.

"The Champion of Durmstrang Institute." He paused, his audience ensnared. "Victor Krum!" The hall erupted into applause, many even among the other schools whooping loudly. The Durmstrang students thumped their fists against the Slytherin table, a pleasant rhythm to Harry's ears. He heard several Gryffindor boys awing at the stern looking boy as he rose and marched towards the ministry official. "No surprise there! Best seeker in the world he is!" Ron watched the man with complete admiration in his eyes. Harry had little interest in the sport of Quidditch, finding flying on a broom to be extremely tedious, when he could do such much faster and easier without the instrument.

He clapped anyway, he had no reason to dislike the surly young man, he'd never even met him after all. The boy disappeared into the next room, and eventually the candles again dimmed, and the crowd fell silent once more.

Again burning parchment spewed from the goblet, and Albus caught it without so much as a second glance.

"The champion of Beauxbatons Academy." Pausing, "Miss Fleur Delacour"

A sudden miasma overcame Harry, the scent returning tenfold, as the Beautiful goddess stood, pride spread across her features. The hall again erupted with cheers, many of the male students smiling at her dumly.

Harry pushed his urges down, and politely clapped, a look of extreme discomfort marring his face.

The striking girl glanced about the hall as she sauntered up toward the ministry official, and when her eyes fell upon Harry, a look of frustration crossed them briefly, the scent flaring to unbearable levels, before she quickly turned from him.

Harry simply continued grimacing, refusing to breathe.

Finally, the girl had disappeared into the side room, and Harry let out a sigh of relief.

The cheering continued for a while, and again the candles dimmed. The flames once again turned bright green, and Dumbledore caught the final piece of parchment. "Hogwarts very own Champion." His grin spread from ear to ear, eyes sparkling. "Cedric Diggory".

The Hufflepuff table exploded, every single member standing with their champion. The rest of the Hall cheered very loudly also, as Cedric was a very popular student, but the insanity emanating from the Hufflepuff table outstripped them all tenfold.

Harry noticed a few disappointed seventh years on his table, but even they clapped fairly cheerfully.

The cheering followed the boy up the hall, and long after he'd disappeared from the room.

When it was finally dying down, People returned their attention to Dumbledore, who it seemed, had one eye remaining on the Goblet.

Inexplicably, it had failed to extinguish itself, but Dumbledore pushed on, beginning his no doubt rehearsed speech.

A few words in, the candles again dimmed, and The flames of the goblet burnt a bright red, screeching as they did so, Dumbledore took a step away in surprise.

The goblet continued wailed, a nailbiting torment assaulting the ears of all in the Hall, before the flames again shifted, this time to a deep black, and a piece of blackened parchment shot out.

Albus, in his shock, clutched after the parchment, but missed it completely, allowing it to fall the floor.

Wavering, he bent to pick it up as the entire hall stood completely silent.

Whispering, he read out the parchment. From his distance, not even Harry's far heightened hearing could pick up the old mans words.

Suddenly he looked up from the parchment, his eyes falling directly on Harry's, and his voice called out, loud over the deafening silence of the hall.

"Harry Potter."

Harry sank in his chair.

Whispers slowly slid around the Hall.

_Isn't Harry Potter Dead? Harry Potter as in THE Harry Potter?_

Albus maintained eye contact with Harry, his expression unreadable.

Harry scrunched his face, and shook his head to the headmaster.

Several of the others on his table were now looking straight at him, following the Headmasters eyes.

He ignored the looks.

Dumbledore slowly nodded to him.

Harry, with extreme reluctance, stood, and made his way towards Albus.

His grimace deepened at all the eyes trailing his movements.

He glanced briefly up to the friendly faces at the staff table. Some of them wore expressions of worry, others, like Albus, were unreadable.

Stopping before the Headmaster, he looked to the ageing man.

Albus simply jerked his head towards the side door, and Harry's dropped his head as he quickly walked toward the side room, brushing passed the aghast Ministry official.

Once he entered the room, he noticed the other champions spread far across the room. Victor stood with his back to a corner, and his arms crossed in front of him.

He appraised Harry's entrance silently, and with little surprise, no more than a twitch in his eyebrow.

Fleur stood by the fireplace, one hand behind her back, and the other absently stroked her jaw in concentration.

When she looked up and saw him, irritation crossed her face. Harry, for some reason, could hardly smell her, though he still found her disarmingly beautiful.

Cedric, leaning against the opposite wall to Victor, a relaxed expression on his face, turned to Harry with confusion written all over him.

"Harry, did they send you to bring us somewhere?"

Before Harry could respond, a man in a shockingly yellow robes, complete with stars and moons littering its gaudy surface barged passed Harry into the room. He turned, looking at each of them, a huge grin on his face.

"Absolutely remarkable! Champions, may I introduce to you, the fourth Champion of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, Mr Harry Potter, back from the dead no less!" This sudden revelation seemed to effect him very little. In fact it only seemed to make him even more excitable than he already appeared.

Harry heard the sounds of arguing approaching the room.

Victor hardly bat an eyelid, simply looking him up and down once more, before nodding at Harry. Seemingly accepting him as simply another competitor.

Cedric had his mouth hanging open, and his eyes darted over Harry's face as if looking for some glamour or something that had deceived him.

Fleur narrowed her eyes at him, and said in a slightly grating tone, " 'Ow can zere be a fourth member of ze _Tri_ Wizard Tournament?"

As if on queue, a sleazy looking man barged into the room, followed by an enormous lady, nearly 10 feet tall, perhaps even larger.

They were both mid argument with the two men behind them, being Professor Snape, and Dumbledore.

The man roared in anger, "This is insulting Albus! Correct me if I'm wrong but I seem to remember the agreement being a single competitor from each school!"

The large lady leant down, and agreed, "I agree, Dumbly-dorr. Zis is most unfair!"

Albus sighed, raising his hands, "Igor, Maxime, I understand, but I had no involvement in this." He ignored the comments made by the two, before turning to face Harry.

"Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire Harry?"

"No sir."

"Did you get an older student to put it in for you?"

Harry repeated, "No sir."

Dumbledore sighed, as he turned away nodding.

"He is obviously lying!" Igor Karkaroff, the headmaster of Durmstrang institute glared at the boy, who just looked back at him vacantly.

He wanted to go read in his room, get away from this place immediately.

"I want to re light the cup! We can keep going until both Durmstrang and Beauxbatons also have two champions!"

The adults began arguing, with the two ministry officials interjecting occasionally, shooting down suggestions and statements.

Eventually he heard Karkaroff say, "I don't care if he entered himself or not. This is clearly a ploy to give Hogwarts an advantage!"

A gruff voice called from the doorway, and Harry turned resignedly to see Alastor Moody limping into the room.

"You're forgetting about the nature of this competition, Karkaroff." He said the name with a sneer.

"A lot of people die in this tournament. I wouldn't be at all surprised if someone entered this boy to do just that; Kill him. Dangerous name he's got." Moody turned to Harry as he said the last part. His twirling eye snapping to him, focusing on the boy. Fleur and Cedric slightly recoiled in shock at the statement. Krum continued to stare at him, disinterestedly.

Moody continued. "There's a few of you death eaters left lurking around no doubt.

I'm sure they'd love to remove young Potter here." He turned to Karkaroff as he said it, emphasising 'death eater' as he glared at the man.

Albus quickly interjected, "That's enough Alastor. We will continue this discussion tomorrow. For now, I have no doubt our young champions are looking forward to their well earned rest."

Krum simply nodded, getting up from his lean against the wall, and silently walked out with a cursing Igor Karkaroff. Cedric looked at Harry sympathetically, patting him on the back as he walked past, following Mrs Sprout, who had stood silently the entire time, out of the room. Fleur stared at Harry for a minute, looking him up and down. Her eyes narrowed, before she turned away contemptuously, flicking her hair as she passed him. Her giant Headmistress placing her hands on her shoulders, as they spoke in rapid French.

Harry didn't have the heart to focus on their words.

He looked to the remaining faces in the room. Snape, Moody, McGonagall and Albus looked at him with a mixture of sympathy and suspicion. Ludo Bagman, the man in the strange yellow robes, beamed at him.

He just sighed, and trudged out of the room.


	2. Dragon's Blood

_Authors Note: Another chapter, this time a little shorter, I noticed a couple reviews saying they thought it was a little long. If this is the consensus, I'm more than happy to publish shorter chapter in the future :) That being said, thanks for all the reviews and follows etc! was pretty surprised to see this get any attention :) Again, please review, positive and negative criticism more than welcome._

_I've made some minor changes to the previous chapter, following some things I wrote in this chapter. There's nothing major, so don't feel the need to go back and read all that again if you don't want to - it's really only a few hundred words different._

_Also, to address some reviews regarding planning for this story, I have two general directions I've been considering taking this story, both of which are fairly fleshed out in my head. At the moment I'm leaning more toward one than the other, but I thought i'd ask for you guys' input before I set anything in stone - Would you prefer a darker direction, with some potentially unhappy aspects to it's resolution, or a lighter one? both of which will be pretty dark keeping in mind, one is just much sadder than the other. Without further a do, Thanks for reading :)_

_**Chapter Two - Dragon's Blood.**_

Harry was having a rough week. Members of the Hufflepuff house had been less than pleasant to him, Let alone the Slytherins who seemed to take great pleasure in harassing him as he walked the halls. While a few of the Gryffindors in his year remained friendly, the majority looked at him with nothing less than suspicion.

He understood, he supposed; He would probably be quite shocked if someone suddenly appeared at his school claiming to be a widely believed dead national hero. Particularly when it appeared he had cheated his way into an extremely prestigious competition.

Luckily Ron and Hermione hadn't turned their backs on him, although Ron had looked at him with a tinge of jealousy, asking how he'd managed to trick the age ring, and why he hadn't brought Ron with him.

Truthfully, Harry knew he could have easily bypassed the line, it probably wouldn't even register him as a living creature, but that was beside the point.

After Harry had insisted he didn't put his name in, and that he had been sworn to secrecy over his real name, Ron had relaxed, and essentially returned to their previous friendship.

The pair of them had been asking questions about where he'd been before Hogwarts, and been a little saddened when Harry told them he had little memory of his former life.

It was a lie, but he had no doubt they both still held trepidation over being seated with a creature specifically designed to hunt humans, and he doubted regaling tales of his savagery would do much to lighten such a latent fear.

He'd began to notice students wearing small enchanted badges that proclaimed Cedric the 'true' Hogwarts champion, and faded to reveal the words 'Potter stinks'.

It was a clever bit of magic, Harry had to admit.

He largely ignored the attention, including the several reporters who'd somehow gained access to the school grounds, and attempted to interview the contestants.

Harry had, for obvious reasons, been a high priority target, But luckily he'd used his unmatched knowledge of the school, and his ability to essentially disappear to his advantage.

It was only a few days before the Weighing of the wands ceremony, and Harry was a little nervous at the prospect; His wand hadn't cast a spell in years, and he had no doubt a master in Wandlore like Olivander would notice this immediately.

He had met with Albus and expressed his concerns. Albus had calmly told the boy to simply present his wand as was required of him, and ignore any accusations or questions from anyone who asked.

He'd then asked how proficient Harry was at disguising his wandless magic, to which Harry had sheepishly scratched the back of his neck remaining silent.

"You should practice Harry. Just hold it in your hand as you normally cast, and hopefully it will begin to feel right."

Harry had been doing just that, throwing himself to the task with vigour, spending hours in the Forbidden forest, casting jinx after curse after charm, grating his teeth at the strange sensation of having to grip the thin piece of wood as he did so.

It was far from comfortable, but Harry thought he looked passable, even if his hand movements were far less flashy and ridiculous as those demanded by casting spells with a wand.

Harry sat in the Great Hall during a feast one night; only a few weeks from the first task, and the weighing ceremony only three days away, when he felt the familiar scent of Draco Malfoy approach him from behind.

He'd had little interaction with the spiteful boy since becoming a 'regular' student, and what little he'd had was fairly unpleasant; the usual Gryffindor slurs, and a generous smattering of insults regarding his friendship with 'the weasel' and 'the mudblood'.

Since being chosen as a Champion however, Draco had determined to insult Harry at every opportunity.

"Well, well, Potter. First task is drawing close, I don't suppose you've figured out what the first task is yet? Father tells me you'll probably be dead in the first two minutes." His face was curled in an unpleasant sneer, as if Harry was beneath him entirely.

Harry remained silent, glancing at the enchanted badge on the Slytherins robes.

Draco caught his look, and grinned viciously.

"Great aren't they? Haven't picked one up yourself yet, Potter? They're all the rage at the moment."

Harry felt a little crestfallen; looking around the room he saw very few Hogwarts students not wearing the badges.

But Harry didn't care much for bullies of little substance, and in Harry's eyes, Draco certainly fit that bill, so he flashed a grin at the boy, his tone silky, "No I haven't yet had the chance. I don't suppose you have a spare? It would pair pretty well with my robes I think."

Draco's grin fell for a moment, a moment of confusion, before he twisted his face in an aggressive snarl, and walked away, calling out an insult over his shoulder has he retreated.

Harry watched him go, and fought down visions of draining the prick dry right there in the great hall.

He felt a light thump on the back, and turned to see Ron looking at him with a strange expression.

"Jeez Harry, You shouldn't let him talk to you like that!"

Hermione leaned forward, glaring sideways at Ron, "You did great Harry, don't rise to that morons bait." She gave Harry a brief appraising look, before looking somewhere distant in the hall, a flash of anger crossing her eyes.

Harry shrugged, he was certain he could wipe the smirk from the purebloods face, he just doubted he'd be allowed to remain at Hogwarts if he did.

They continued to eat, or In Harry's case, cut his food up on his plate, and occasionally brought it to his face before conveniently getting distracted with conversation.

Despite the sour tone left by Malfoy, Harry somehow managed to survive the meal; his last, he decided, before he would lock himself away in pure preparation for the first task.

He still had no inkling as to what the task would entail, despite the sardonic hints his tormentors often leered at him as they walked by.

Gathering from the numerous comments on how Harry would taste after a nice roasting, he'd so far gathered fire would play a significant role.

Part of him was annoyed at the fact that everybody seemed to know what the challenge was, with the exception apparently being he and his friends.

He'd begged Dumbledore to give him some sort of hint, but the man had just smiled with that damned twinkle glinting in his eyes.

Hagrid had been somewhat disturbed at the question, and seemed to nearly break under Harry's questioning, but frustratingly had claimed he'd tell him later.

Some friends they were.

Growing tired of the cycle of glares from around the room, followed by a sympathetic word or two from his two Gryffindor friends, he decided he'd had enough of the great Hall, and excused himself from the table.

Walking down the length of the hall, he heard the occasional snicker as he passed, whispers tailing his retreating figure.

A flare of pure vitriol jolted through him like a stinging hex, and the urge to turn and grab a nearby laughing second year from Ravenclaw flashed behind his eyes.

Sweat gathered on his forehead; the moment had passed thankfully, but the suddenness left him panging with fear.

The control he'd been trying so hard to cultivate had been tenuous at best so far this year.

Blood was thundering in his ears. _What had set him off?_

He felt the thick substance rising within him, begging to feed, to satiate that horrid longing.

Panic still pumping through him, his breathing fast and shallow; he briefly picked up trail of floral scent.

It hit him softly, unlike the jarring assault of the night some weeks ago.

He immediately braced himself for the overwhelming lust that followed that damned scent.

It never arose. Instead, it soothed him, wrapping around his fleeing figure in a gentle embrace.

His mind cleared swiftly, a light euphoria taking over.

For a moment he floated, his head light as the breathtaking feeling caressing his mind.

Faint memories flooded from his brain, as if being picked through, though the usual disgust whenever he relived the images didn't come.

He faltered in his step, and nearly reached out his arms, trying to physically hold the embrace closer to him. Luckily, as such a motion would look extremely odd; he controlled himself.

The tranquillity of the moment hearkened back to memories of his first year at Hogwarts, and Harry balked as it somehow reminded him of his interaction with Professor Quirrell, standing in front of that enchanted mirror.

His thoughts were interrupted, as suddenly the soothing warmth lurched away, leaving in its wake a frosty emptiness.

His tranquillity shaken, Harry shuddered, his body wracked with vibrations at the sudden cold that stung his skin. The warmth had been torn away from him unforgivingly, as if it had drained him of everything. It left him wanting, yearning again for it's relaxing presence.

His mind danced, wrenching to find some comfort to replace that, which had briefly soothed him.

It was chaos, upturning the same memories and emotions with increasing desperation.

Glancing over his shoulder as he arrived at the large doors of the great hall, His face contorted with rising panic and discomfort, the emptiness was near unbearable now. He searched the Ravenclaw table for his fellow champion.

His eyes fell on her, seemingly deep in discussion with a group of Beauxbatons students.

Her cheeks were bright red, and she glanced at him for a split second from the corner of her eyes, before pointedly turning her entire body to face away from him.

A surge of unadulterated rage bellowed from the depths of his mind.

_I will not be toyed with._

The urge to storm toward her, tearing at her attention, dominating it with his presence bubbled from within. He saw in his mind, himself standing over her, an imposing figure, darkness coalescing around his terrible form, he stood ten feet tall, dripping with power, demanding she answer to her consistent meddling with his emotions; intentional or not.

Instead, he released his grip on the large door, ignoring the splintered timber beneath his now clawed hand, and the large chunk that had sliced his palm. He stepped raggedly through the door, feeling the sneering eyes still watching him. Glancing side to side, he searched for any witnesses. Sensing no presence, he let himself be devoured by the darkness.

His form was catastrophic; an enormous dark cloud darting from shadow to shadow with jarring disdain.

He briefly heard a shout echo through his mind, _control yourself._

He pushed the thought back with a snarl, his ethereal form swiping at the surrounding corridor as he lurched through them towards the exit.

Black residue splattered everything he touched, thick claw marks marring the walls and paintings, which cursed in alarm after his rampaging form.

His trail was a path of pain.

He did little damage to anything, but his intent was clear; he had left his mark.

The halls were coated in a thick darkness well after he passed them, the light shying away from its mere memory of the beast that swept through them.

Finally bursting through the large doors leading outside, Harry felt a surge of power flood through him as silver light trickled down on him from above.

For a brief moment, he thought he might howl, and a humorous image of Lupin bellowing up at the pale Moon flashed through his fractured mind.

His scattered, shadowy form shrank, drawing in on itself, until he was again a physical being.

His body was black as the void itself, and as he took in the world around him, he saw it tinged red with blood.

Rhythmic drumbeats pounded his ears, a cacophony of drums beaten erratically, only Harry knew they weren't drums.

Turning to face the Old castle, he saw hundreds of bright red hearts shuddering together.

Salivating, he took a step back towards the castle, that same voice screaming in the back of his mind, begging him to calm down.

A noise to his right thankfully drew his attention, and he darted his eyes to follow it. A faint pulse blew softly through his ears, almost unheard beneath the chaos before him.

Several tiny red lights glowed brightly in the distance. Their haunting flickering a beacon in the inky black depths.

It was miles away, he couldn't even smell the distant creature, but something drew him to those glimmering lights.

Tearing his eyes away from Hogwarts, he flew towards them, a streak of black smoke billowing in the wind.

He covered ground fast, darting towards his target.

The largest of the twinkling lights grew stronger, enormous gems floating above the wooded floor.

_I'm in the Forbidden forest _the voice rang through his mind.

He shook his head, clearing the annoyance away.

Giant gems were darting around strangely, surrounded by smaller, duller lights.

He was getting close, and he could smell it now.

There were litres of it. Almost as much as had been in the great hall.

A single thought powered through him.

_BLOOD._

They drove him forward, slinking down into the tree canopy.

His inky form shot from branch to branch, nearing the huge clearing.

He paused as he reached it, red eyes peering out into it.

Several small tents were placed sporadically around the clearing, roughly surrounding one huge one.

It was truly a huge tent, at least as big as the great hall itself.

Inside it were most of the glittering lights, lurching around, full of activity.

Several of the huge gems stood proudly above the smaller ones around it inside, occasionally lurching forward.

The sound was deafening, pounding hearts enough to drown out the shouts being spewed from all the humans going about their tasks.

He heard a piercing screech – and turned away from the large tent.

The revealed source of the enormous gems sat before him.

Several men surrounded a moderately sized dragon.

It snorted angrily, steam spewing from its nostrils as the men and women around it cast hexes and binding spells at it.

With each spell that hit it, it recoiled slightly, the barrage splattering against its hardened scales.

It was probably the smallest of the giant glowing hearts that surrounded him, but it still dwarfed those of the men who fought it.

A spell smacked it in the face, right under its eyes, and the beast roared into the sky, battering at its magical chains with a clawed arm.

Two of the men holding the beast staggered, losing concentration on their binding spells.

The beast, in its agony, writhed violently, flapping its wings rapidly.

The men around it stepped back slightly, a brief gap in their spell casting, not realising the best was no longer bound.

With another deafening screech, it angled its head toward its tormentors, and released a long stream of fire.

Shouts of pain echoed through the clearing, and Harry watched as liquid fire spattered against several nearby tents, clinging to the fabric, sending them up in milliseconds.

The dragon, sensing its moment, launched into the air, and prepared another burst of napalm.

Lust coated Harry's eyes, and he felt a trail of saliva trickle down his gaping jaw.

He could feel the beasts enormous, glowing, pulsating heart; it dominated his vision, everything around it fading into the darkness.

He lurched forward; a grotesque gurgle left his throat as he did.

His figure an inky spear, he latched onto the flying beast just as it released its burst of flame.

A bedraggled cloud of burning fire sprayed out as its body flinched at the contact, losing all its direction and focus.

The flame fizzled out into the air, pungent sulphur burning the nostrils of those around.

Harry's momentum carried it forward, and they both flailed toward the other end of the clearing.

He clawed at it viciously as they fell, It dwarfed him, but in his lust Harry ignored the obvious disadvantage, urged on by the thrilling strength pumping through him, as the beast wriggled under his latching claws.

Dirt spewed beneath them as they hit the ground, and they left a deep ditch as they slid across it, colliding roughly with the tree line.

The dragon staggered, struggling to stand, its hind legs bucking out in panic.

Harry stood quickly, grasping either side of its head, grappling with the small horns behind its ears, and pulled with all his might.

Its legs gave out beneath the rapid movement, and it slid behind him easily as he dragged it between the trees, away from prying eyes.

It flailed wildly in his grip, kicking out and clawing with desperation. Its wings pinned limply beneath its body, frail bones shattered from the impact with the forest floor.

Its huge eyes darted in panic, and it sprayed small bursts of fire from its nose, some of which splattered against Harrys black figure.

He ignored the scorching heat, and the searing pain that followed it as it incinerated the skin on his chest and forearms.

Further he dragged, his muscles screeching with the exertion.

The clearing left far behind, he continued to hear the surprised exclamation left by the humans.

They seemed to be gathering, peering into the depths of the forest, searching for him.

With some distance between them, he yanked the dragon's head hard, hearing a snap.

The beast whimpered, and went limp.

He tore at the scales on its neck frantically; his claws barely scratching the surface.

Finally he caught the edge of one, and wrenched upward.

It gave way, peeling away from the skin beneath.

Harry immediately sank his teeth into the exposed flesh, gnashing against it.

Vile liquid sprayed against his grisly features, but a delighted shiver ran through his body as he drained it with vigour.

The shouts from the humans slowly grew louder, having finally found the courage to follow whatever had snatched the dragon.

Harry felt bloated from the sheer amount of blood, but slurped against the laceration with a desperate need.

After a minute, the blood began to trickle, and Harry leant back for a moment to catch his breath.

A sickening wave of nausea immediately crashed against him as he looked down at the Dragon.

Its eyes stared lifelessly into the void, its gaze cold. The beast's magnificent, glittering metallic scales splattered with trails of blood.

He fell away from it, crawling away as he retched.

The men were barely a hundred feet away; wand tips alight with lumos, peering out into the darkness.

He immediately dissolved, reforming up a tree a few meters away.

His breath was sharp and shallow, understanding flooding through his mind, the bloodlust having washed away rapidly.

He sat up in the tree; looking down at the slain Dragon beneath him, sorrow building.

It was a truly beautiful creature.

Thoughts of its mistreatment at the hands of its captors flooded his mind. The beast had finally escaped incarceration, only to have the sweet taste of freedom immediately wrenched from it, at the hands of an insatiable beast.

The humans finally reached the carcass, and a surprised yelp left one as he leapt back a step at the sight.

The small group gathered around the limp body, and Harry absently watched them discuss what could possibly have done such a thing, shudders escaping their throats as they did.

Harry wiped his sleeved arm against his mouth, he had returned to human form; the hulking figure of pure darkness retreated along with his savage thirst.

He pulled his hand away from his face, peering at the thick, dark liquid that dripped off his fingertips.

A single drop fell away, and he watched its arc, right onto the extended hand of a man below him.

He froze, watching as the man slowly looked upward, searching the trees.

A few others followed his gaze.

They never rested their fearful eyes on him; luckily it was far too dark to see more than a few feet into the depths without assistance, but Harry didn't want to wait around for them to send probes of light up into the canopy, so he jumped clear of the trees, dissolving into shadows as he did, whipping above the tree tops, gliding back toward the castle miles into the distance.

His mind fragmented with emotion, his flight was wrought with disaster.

Several times Harry found himself dropping as his concentration waned, grazing the passing trees as he partially materialised before them.

At one point he was so absorbed, he'd crashed into a tree, flailing as he fell several meters to the forest floor, startling a nearby deer as he did, who skittered off into the distance. He'd hardly noticed the impact, his mind numbed.

Groaning, he had lifted himself, sparing only a glance at his rapidly healing gashes and burns.

He was repulsed with the death of the Dragon, but its blood was clearly enriching his body, empowering his being. Ever since the deed, he'd been feeling his muscle fibres knitting together firmly, and his bones aching as the powerful dragon blood engulfed them, gifting him growth and newfound strength.

The thought disgusted him – what sort of creature relied on the slaughtering of others to empower itself?

Despite his fractured thoughts, he had finally neared the castle, collapsing mid flight onto the grass near the lake as he did so, rolling limply as his momentum carried him.

His skin burned from the impact, but he merely gazed up at the weak stars in the sky, breathing heavily as he did.

The enormous moon glared down at him unforgivingly; Its previous, comforting silver glow having long since retreated.

Small tears streaked his eyes, coming out thick and red, leaving crusty trails fanning down his cheek.

Quietly, dwarfed by the anger and self-loathing that battered against his skull, he'd heard a quiet, emotionless voice repeating itself over and over again.

_Dragons in the woods. Why would there be dragons in the woods?_

For what seemed like hours he lay there, body crumpled, refusing to shift from the position he'd finally rested in.

His limbs splayed wildly, he continued to stare up into the sky.

Eventually, he watched the moon edge toward the horizon, and saw a faint glow encroaching opposite it.

He didn't bother moving, overtaken with depressed apathy.

Slowly, the light grew, until he could tell the face of the sun would be mere minutes from sheering its ugly head.

He heard a shuffling in the grass nearby, but ignored it.

A gasp sounded, and the shuffling stopped.

Harrys eyes were drooping, the jarring clutches of sleep, clawing to pull him under.

A deep and sudden, yet gentle voice called out suddenly, though Harry couldn't make out the words.

As his eyes finally closed, he saw the blurry image of a greying man with a long beard lean over him, a concerned expression governing his face.

Then blackness.

Lighting arced through the sky as Harry looked up at the house.

It was an old building, coated in darkness.

No lights shone from its windows, through the storm, and the tree in its front yard was long dead.

He stepped toward it, feeling a faint familiarity at the building.

Reaching out to the door handle, the wooden porch creaked beneath him, giving off an eerie vibe to the already bleak scene.

The door refused to open, and Harry absently cast Alohomora with his wand, and the door swung open.

In his growing trepidation, he failed to notice the action; when had he ever successfully cast a spell with a wand?

Stepping through the doorway, he found himself in a warm, cosy house.

Even with the lights out, he could see easily into the hall, and he peered freely into the surrounding rooms.

The living room was empty, though he noticed several framed pictures hung on the walls.

One caught his eye, it was extremely familiar, but as soon as he stepped into the room toward it, a sudden thud happened from the end of the long hallway, and he rapidly whipped his head toward the noise.

Wand up, a shrouded figure suddenly burst from the bottom of a stairwell.

The figure was wearing thick black robes, with a hood pulled over a silver mask.

A grating voice bellowed from it, and red sparks flew from the wand, straight at Harry.

Startled, he sidestepped the slow spell, and whipped his wand forward, a pulsing green light burst forth, crashing into the figures chest.

It launched backward, slamming against the wall, before sliding down, convulsing slightly.

Harry stepped toward it, watching as the figure went limp.

Nearing it, he peered at the corpse.

Slowly, the mask was disintegrating from top down, revealing a mop of messy, dark brown hair.

As he watched, another thud sounded from up the stairs, and he immediately turned, wand at the ready.

As soon as his back turned, the silver mask completely dissolved, leaving the cold image of a young, bespectacled man staring lifelessly upward, pain lacing his features.

Nothing burst from the stairs, but strange hissing noises sounded from somewhere deep into the dark depths above him.

Cautiously, he took the steps one by one, wand ever ready, sparing no glance at the now revealed corpse behind him.

Rounding a bend in the staircase, a shadowy figure fleeted into a room, slamming the door behind it.

He stalked towards it, turning the handle slowly.

Stepping into the dark room, he saw another shrouded figure hunched over a small, grotesque child.

It was missing a nose, and its skin gleamed in the low light with viscous and bloody slime.

It sneered at Harry as he entered, a faint hiss leaving its mouth.

The hunched, dark figure, turned to him as he entered the room, and a grating gurgle hacked from beneath its silver mask.

Disgust gracing Harry's lips, he called out to the figure, "Step aside. What is that fowl creature?"

The hunched figure shifted uncomfortably, its gurgle growing desperate.

Harry swept his wand absently, and the figure slid away from the child, whimpering horridly as it did.

He stared into the eyes of the wicked thing; Its cold black depths taunting him, hissing in his ears.

Without a second though, words left his lips in a whisper, and green light shot out towards the grotesque thing.

Just as the curse was about to hit, the hunched black figure leapt forward, protecting the fowl child, and Harry cursed angrily.

Kicking the limp carcass away, as it's mask faded, he stepped closer to the slimey thing.

It began to cackle, a scratchy noise that hurt Harry's ears.

He hissed, air sucking between his gritted teeth.

It raised a wrinkled arm, pointing toward the fallen figure, and Harry tore his eyes away slowly.

Lying dead on the floor, was a beautiful, redheaded woman.

Harry staggered at the sight, dropping his wand as he stepped toward his fallen mother.

Clutching her to his chest, she lay limply against him, eyes staring out coldly.

Tears stained his eyes, and he turned back toward the creature.

Staring back at him, were a pair of emerald green eyes, ringed red from crying.

It held its arm out, leaning toward its dead mother.

Harry glanced down at his wand, and saw its white, bone handle.

Lurching to his feet, he staggered as he carried his mother from of the room. The child's screeching grew as he fled down the stairs. Reaching the bottom, he faltered at the sight of his crumpled father, dropping his mother's corpse as he fell to his knees.

Grief overwhelmed him, and he screamed to the heavens with unmatched ferocity.

His vocal chords torn from the grating screech, he hacked blood, falling backward.

Harry woke with a start, bolt upright, he whipped his head around, taking in his surroundings with a start.

He'd had that dream again.

Relaxing slightly, he saw he was lying in his bed, silken sheets strewn wildly from it, gathering on the edge of the bed, threatening to fall to the wooden stone floor.

He noticed his school clothes folded neatly on his desk by the wall, and the distinct lack of crimson stains.

Someone had washed them.

Memories of his night came back to him, and he absently felt his face with his fingers, as if expecting to find blood on his tips.

Of course, there wasn't, and he noticed someone had also clearly tossed him in a bath, the faint scent of soap lingering on his skin.

Rising, he walked over to the folded clothes, and noticed he was naked.

His face grew hot at the thought; it wasn't a very comforting feeling knowing someone had undressed him while he was knocked out.

Reaching the desk, he saw a small piece of parchment resting on his folded clothes, and he recognised the handwriting of the Headmaster.

'_Thought you would appreciate some help. Come to the office when you wake – A'_

He dropped the parchment, and again glanced around the room.

He didn't particularly feel like doing anything at the moment.

He certainly didn't want to leave the sanctity of his dark room.

With a groan he forced himself to dress, albeit messily.

His tie loose around his neck, and his white shirt untucked in his school pants, he closed his eyes, probing the hallway outside his door for life.

He found none, and was again unnerved at feeling the distinct blocking of his probes emanating from Dumbledore office.

A thought struck him – he'd never seen or noticed Dumbledore sleeping, nor any quarters for him to do so.

He shoved the oddity down, and resigned to asking of it later, before trudging out the door.

He sulked toward the gargoyle, and muttered "Lemon sherbet" lazily.

The Gargoyle gave him a look, but swung around regardless.

Inside, Harry found himself alone, excepting the Phoenix that eyed him from its perch.

He stepped towards the bird, offering his finger gently.

The bird nipped his finger in return, a friendly gesture, before shaking its feathers, and begun preening itself.

Harry sat and watched the magnificent bird, for what could've been an hour for all he knew; he was entranced.

Looking closely at its feathers, he noticed what looked like miniscule flames dancing along them, rippling with every movement.

He'd spent hours in this office, and never once had he noticed.

He pondered if it was a trick of the light, and leaned forward to get a closer look.

The bird briefly paused its motion, glancing at the boy, tilting its head as it did, before returning to its activity.

Harry was suddenly interrupted, "Magnificent isn't it. Very interesting creatures."

He turned, seeing Albus smiling behind him.

The door hadn't opened, and again harry was struck by how otherworldly the seemingly omniscient Headmaster was.

"Are its feathers burning, sir?" Was all harry said, eyes squinted in concentration as he returned to look at the bird.

Albus rounded his desk, sitting behind it, watching the bird as he did.

"They might be, why don't you ask it?"

Harry turned to the grinning headmaster, giving him a flat look.

Albus leaned down slightly, pulling a drawer open.

He placed a crimson lollipop on the desk, and without even thinking, Harry automatically reached for it.

It was a strange candy; blood flavoured, but still shockingly sweet.

Albus had nearly gotten harry addicted to them.

"You wanted to see me sir?"

Albus nodded, peering down at the small yellow sweet in his hands as he unravelled its wrapping.

"Yes Harry. Weighing is today, and there are a few things we should discuss."

Harry balked at the statement; he must've slept for almost a day and a half!

Finally looking up from his now released candy, Albus smiled at the boys look.

"Yes. Seems your nightly escapades have left you drained my boy."

Harry cast his eyes down, light shame spreading through him at the memories.

Albus continued on, ignoring the look. "We will discuss such events later Harry, it is of little importance at the moment; more pressing matters and all that."

He waved his hands gently as he spoke.

Harry looked up to the headmaster, confusion dominating his thoughts.

"As the Weighing ceremony is customary, and an official portion of the tournament, there will be several ministry officials present."

He paused, eyes boring into Harry as he did.

Harry weakly nodded, urging the man to continue.

"I would recommend you try to keep as much distance as possible. With the other heads of schools also Harry. Accomplished wizards the lot of them, I would not put it passed them to be capable of discovering our little secret."

Harry paled at the thought. If the ministry knew what he was, he had no doubt he would be exiled at best, accosted and imprisoned most likely, and potentially even executed at worst.

"My thoughts exactly, my boy." Worry spread across his face as he appraised Harry.

An uncomfortable silence grew in the room, and Harry couldn't bring himself out of the graphic visions of his life without Hogwarts in it, to ease the deafening emptiness.

"Unfortunately, I suspect the Beauxbatons contingent to have some inkling of your condition."

Harry's eyes shot up in alarm, but Albus silenced the question in his throat.

"After your… Incident, a student stumbled across your rather gruesome figure by the lake. Luckily I arrived in time to stop her from getting close enough to truly identify you. I hope at least."

Harry grumbled in response, visions of being chased through the woods in some distant country by Aurors flashing in his eyes.

"It is of little consequence. There is nothing more we can do. On another note, how is your spell casting with the wand going?"

Harry sheepishly scratched his nose, before pulling his wand out, attempting to cast a minor incendio at a nearby candle.

The wand gave a slight hissing noise in protest, a small orange spark sputtering from its tip. The candle remained unlit.

Albus chuckled, eyeing Harry in wait.

Harry sighed and muttered incendio in his mind.

He felt a tug against his palm, as the candle burst into flame.

The wand sat unmoving in his grasp.

Harry lurched back in his seat as Dumbledore bellowed in laughter.

"Well I suppose we'll have to hope nobody expects you to be able to wandlessly cast. That was very average Harry."

Harry's face grew hot in embarrassment. He'd never been admonished by the headmaster like that before.

It was slightly alarming, but truthfully it seemed friendly more than anything. The old mans strange way of showing respect.

"Well I can't bring myself to swish this stupid twig like you lot do" Harry huffed in false exasperation, mimicking the infamous wand movements human wizards were famed for, as Albus continued to laugh, lightly shaking his head.

"I'll have a quiet word with Olivander when I get the chance. Let him know not to question your absurd wand too much."

Harry grinned, thankful for the continued help the headmaster gave him.

"Now my boy, I believe breakfast is being served in less than thirty minutes, perhaps you should tidy that uniform, and head down early to avoid these tense entrances you seem so fond of making?"

Harry started, shock gracing his face. "Breakfast? You mean its morning?" Somehow he'd taken no notice of the brightness when he was walking to the Headmasters office.

Albus nodded with a rueful smile.

Rising from the chair, slightly dazed at the thought of being conscious at such an ungodly hour, Harry silently made his way back to his room.

Suddenly aware of the time, the brightness bored into him relentlessly, and the urge to curl up in a shadowy corner rippled through him.

Entering the room, he collapsed onto his bed.

He didn't feel tired enough to sleep at all, try as he might.

Sighing resignedly, he slumped around the room, gathering the remainder of his uniform, taking slightly more care in making himself presentable.

A pang of nervousness occasionally reared in his mind as he made his way down to the great hall.

He'd never attended a breakfast at Hogwarts before, and despite knowing how ridiculous his thoughts were - It was obviously no different from any other meal - he couldn't help be worried it would be something he was entirely unprepared for.

Finally reaching the large wooden doors, squinting heavily to avoid the piercing light of the rising sun, he peered in, smiling as he found it relatively empty.

He slid comfortably into his spot, glancing around as he did.

There were a few glares, but mostly the surrounding students looked pretty dead, sleep still firmly encased on their droopy faces.

It was surprisingly pleasant, and Harry found himself absently reading a copy of The Daily Prophet that sat scattered over the table.

He noticed his name and a few other bits and pieces directed toward the Tri Wizard tournament, but skipped over them without a second thought; no doubt they wouldn't be particularly flattering.

Slowly the hall filled, and Harry was partially relieved to notice the Gryffindor students didn't deliberately exclude his area, sitting wherever they normally did.

Most hardly gave him more than a glance, and a few even sent small smiles to him.

Shrugging it off, he shut out his surroundings, reading a review of a Quidditch game from the night before. It was some British league, and Harry took in very little of what was written, but it was somewhat soothing delving into the ordinary existence of the wizarding community.

Eventually he noticed several of his surrounding Gryffindor's staring at something directly behind him with sour expressions, and without turning he smelt, once again, Draco Malfoy.

He faintly heard the boy saying something with that contemptuous sneer, but he blatantly ignored him, pouring himself a mug of tea, and occasionally sipping from it, holding down the urge to spit it out.

Draco rounded him, so he was in his peripherals, and was animatedly jeering at Harry, who continued to glance at sections of the paper in feigned ignorance.

Eventually the boy reached out, trying to tug at his robes.

Harry leaned out of the way, and with an absent gesture, sent a pot of tea barrelling straight at the boys head without turning from the prophet.

Draco yelped, a look of pure shock on his face as hot tea streaked down it, and he stormed off toward his head of house, calling backward.

Harry didn't take in any of the words, feeling slightly pleased with the proceedings.

He continued to read the ramblings of journalists, only pausing to greet Ron and Hermione as they arrived, and occasionally interject in their animated conversation when they addressed him.

Food appeared, and Harry didn't even bother putting food on his plate, only pretending to sip from his tea as he read.

Occasionally he would feel eyes on him, and glance around to see Fleur looking at him with a mix of what harry assumed was annoyance and partial awe. Her usually pristine features were scrunched up in a cute, but unladylike manner.

Every time he caught her eye, she would quickly scowl and look away.

Mild anger would flood him each time; this was a wicked woman, tormenting him without even realising it.

She was, Harry decided, the most dangerous person he had ever met.

The day proceeded rather uneventfully, Harry somewhat bemused at observing what people looked like early in the morning. He supposed his unpleasant grimace toward the bright sun would fit right in.

Finally, as he sat outside by the lake, playing with small orbs of water he levitated around, Professor McGonagall cleared her throat from behind him.

He glanced over his shoulder, but continued to dart the orb around, splashing it into the surface near a small fish that skittered at the impact.

"Mr Potter, We will be beginning the Weighing of the Wands shortly, your lack of presence has been noted."

Sighing, he nodded as he rose, sending one last orb, nearly a foot across, flying high into the air, hearing it splash a moment later as he followed the professor toward the large castle.

"Have you prepared, Mr Potter?"

He nodded, eyes narrowed in thought.

"Very good. Albus tells me he hasn't been able to contact Olivander as of yet."

Worry shot through Harry. He hoped Olivander was as kind a man as Albus had made him out to be.

"You will be fine Mr Potter. I implore you to ignore the journalists. Especially the one here today, she is of particular concern." She said with a contemptuous snarl.

They remained silent the rest of the walk, until Harry found himself ushered into an old classroom he'd never seen used.

The other three champions sat on some desks in the far corner looking bored, as the three headmasters, a ministry official called Barty Crouch, and a small old man, whom Harry presumed was the famous Olivander, and a frizzy haired, blonde bespectacled woman quietly spoke opposite the champions.

At Harry's arrival the room lit with action, and Harry was ushered over toward the other champions, as a previously unnoticed man began setting up an old camera on a tripod facing them.

The desks were cleared, and Harry stood awkwardly with the others as the old wand maker made his way towards the group.

Things were shuffled, as the attendees were placed in frame, the headmasters behind the camera with the ministry man.

After what seemed like far too long to simply organise people into a row, the ceremony was underway.

Olivander first called Victor up, a bright flash erupting from the camera as he held his wand out, smoke billowing from the dusty machine.

"Ahhh, one of Gregorovitchs?" Victor nodded sternly to the old man.

"A little thicker than most, but sturdy no doubt. Ten and a quarter inches, hornbeam, with a dragon heartstring core." Olivander nodded his head absently as he appraised the wand from all angles.

With a flourish, a slight spark flung from its tip, and a flock of birds flew from the end, before Olivander handed the wand back with a smile.

Krum stepped back with a small bow, and looked to the rest of the champions with that blank expression he was famed for.

Next, Fleur was called up, and mild distaste stained Harry's tongue as she swayed tantalisingly toward the old man.

She handed her wand to him, and his face scrunched in mild confusion for a moment as he rotated the wand.

"Most unusual. Veela hair as the core?" He arched a brow toward the French girl, who nodded. "Oui. It was my Grandmuzzer's."

Olivander nodded, continuing his appraisal. "A bit temperamental, but no doubt competent. Nine and a half inches, Rosewood, Veela hair core." He nodded to himself, and flicked the wand, producing a bouquet of flowers.

The mild scent made Harry's blood rise, and he scowled to himself, tearing his eyes from Fleur's figure.

Receiving the wand back, she gave a small curtsy, her blue skirt swishing slightly at the action.

Again Harry cursed himself, looking away from her tanned legs, boring holes into the ceiling.

Cedric was called up, and he turned slightly with a grin as the camera puffed.

Olivander smiled as he took the wand, "One of my own I see. You've taken very good care of this, Mr Diggory." Cedric grinned sheepishly, rubbing his neck. "I polished her last night Sir." Olivander beamed at the boy as he turned it over in his hands.

Harry looked down to his own wand, ignoring the close proximity of the French girl next to him, and rubbed his wand against his pant leg. A pang of sympathy escaped him as he looked down at the neglected instrument. A light layer of dust coated it, no doubt from sitting unused on his desk for so long. A slight spark fizzled from its tip at the action, and Harry blushed as he held it behind his back, ignoring the looks from around the room.

Though he could feel the sneer on the haughty French girls face, as she looked him up and down.

"Twelve and a quarter inches, Ash, Unicorn hair core. In Particularly fine condition." He returned the wand to a blushing Cedric, who bowed before returning to the other champions.

"And finally, Mr Potter, if you would."

Harry reluctantly stepped forward, faltering as the camera puffed; it's bright light nearly drawing a hiss from his lips.

Instead, he shook his head slightly, giving the cameraman a glare, before holding his wand out to the Old man, who immediately frowned as soon as it landed in his palm.

He remained silent as he turned it over in his hands, frowning occasionally, and glancing up at the boy.

Finally, he caught Harry's eye, "Another of my own. Though I have a distinct lack of memory regarding this wands sale."

Harry glanced toward Albus, who looked unreadable.

"Very strange indeed, this wand. Did you know of its history?"

Harry shook his head mildly. He didn't like the scrutiny.

"This wand, as are many, is not unique. Though unlike most, it has only one sibling; a brother."

He paused, holding the wand outstretched.

A small, pulsating green light escaped its tip, floating directly toward harry, grazing against the scar on his forehead.

Olivander watched with extreme intensity, muttering "Curious" at the lights resting place.

Staring straight into Harry's eyes, he quietly asked "and how, Mr Potter, would you describe your connection with this wand?"

Harry paled.

"I would have to say about average sir?"

Harry could immediately tell it was a strange answer to such a question. The expressions of the wizards around him were confused at best, though some were watching him with intrigue.

"I see." Olivander still hadn't shifted his focus.

"Eleven inches, Holly, Phoenix feather core." He paused, "And brother to the wand of one Lord Voldemort."

A gasp rounded through the room, and Harry wasn't sure whether simply at the use of the name, or the implication.

He knew nothing about wands, what did being a brother mean?

He looked over at Albus, wondering why the headmaster had chosen such a wand. You'd think he would try and be inconspicuous?

Olivander handed the wand back, and Harry stepped away from his scrutinising gaze.

Harry was pleased that the attention of the adults was returned to the old man, where they furiously asked question after question.

Cedric gave harry a strange, but somewhat pitying look, before harry glanced toward Victor.

The gruff boy simply nodded his head toward him.

Seemed like all the boy did was nod silently.

Fleur had an unreadable expression, but she regarded him intensely, and it made him extremely uncomfortable.

He wanted to sneer at her, insult her, tell her she repulsed him, and tell her how much she'd hurt him.

But the words died before they even reached his tongue. They would be empty words, and rising to such child like behaviour would do nothing other than make her further believe him nothing more than a petulant little boy with delusions of grandeur.

Instead, he searched desperately for the door, yearning to get away from their eyes.

He unconsciously stepped toward it, and immediately the female journalist launched herself in between Harry and his escape.

"Albus, I do believe we are owed a few more photographs? And an interview or two?"

Dumbledore looked peeved at the woman, and Harry immediately disliked her; strange how somebody else's opinion could do that.

"You are not _owed_ anything, Ms Skeeter. You are permitted, at best."

Ignoring the headmasters' words, the lady grabbed Harry's wrist, calling over her shoulder to the cameraman, "Bozo, get some individuals, I'll be back in a moment." She turned back to harry, before pulling his arm toward a corner of the room.

"Come now Harry, we should have a bit more privacy for our little talk."

She'd turned, and stepped toward the corner, only to jerk to a halt when Harry planted his feet and refused to move.

Turning back to Harry, a look of shock on her face, she opened her mouth to speak, faltering as her mouth hung open.

Harry took the moment to wrench his arm free of her grip.

He was sick of this tournament already, and wanted nothing more than to retreat to the sanctity of his room. Or perhaps out near the woods, so he could release some of the pent up anger, and the other feeling, that still pulsated through him.

His lip rose in contempt as he looked to the startled woman.

"I'd rather disembowel myself than talk to you." She reeled back at his words, her mouth still agape.

Before she could compose herself and respond, Harry turned away from the flabbergasted woman toward his headmaster.

"Is the ceremony complete? I have to prepare for the first task. You know, the one where I could potentially die?

Albus had a calculating look on his face, but Harry could detect the faintest hint of a smirk in the corner of his mouth.

"Yes Harry, I believe you're now free to go."

Skeeter began waffling on to Albus about a deal or some such, but Harry ignored it, heading for the door.

He noticed a look of respect directed at him from both Victor, and the Giant Headmistress of Beauxbatons as he arrived at the door.

With one last sneer at the room, Harry stormed out.

Harry felt incredibly stupid. He wasn't sure how it'd taken him so long to realise.

At lunch, a mere week away from the first task, Ron had nudged him as they quietly ate, passing him a slip of parchment. Scrawled, in honestly horrific script, was a single word.

_Dragons._

It had hit Harry like a bullet. Of course it was Dragons, why hadn't he thought about why there was a strange group of Dragon tamers just hanging around in the woods?

He shoved the embarrassment down, and whispered to Ron.

"How'd you find out?"

The redhead, mouth stuffed full of food, held a finger up as he swallowed.

"Brother Charlie works at a Sanctuary for 'em. Sent me a letter telling me they were here in England."

Harry nodded, looking down determinately at the parchment.

He had to figure out a way to beat a dragon.

Without turning into a sickening monster and draining its very life from it of course.

"I went and saw 'em last night. Big things Harry, you ought to be careful. I think you guys were supposed to fight the young ones, but something came and ate one right under Charlie and the rest's nose, so they sent the youngest ones back to Romania. All that's left are the big'uns now."

Harry internally groaned. Of course he'd unknowingly made things harder for himself and his competitors.

He had no doubt he could take a dragon of similar size to the poor creature he'd fed on the other week, but he distinctly remembered how much smaller that beasts heart had been, to some of those hidden beneath the enormous tent back in the clearing.

He had to make a plan, lest he accidentally show his true nature to those watching the task.

He sat quietly, pondering potential approaches to such a daunting task, and came up with few ideas. For all his advanced learning beyond his fellow fourth years, he was still a year behind his tournament competitors in several subjects.

But he didn't allow that to deter him, there was no point, he thought, in wallowing in self-pity when he had to compete regardless.

His first plan was to disguise himself, maybe with transfiguration, and trick the dragon, allowing him to perhaps sneak up on the unwitting creature and stun it, preventing any prolonged fight.

He didn't think it was such a bad plan, and tucked it away for further brainstorming.

Another idea came in the form of his natural abilities. Perhaps, he thought, he could use his mind to dominate the dragon.

Sceptical at best, Harry again tucked the idea away for later, just as a strange multi-coloured bird squawked above him.

It circled, before landing right in front of his empty plate, holding its leg out. Tied to the leg, was a small envelope.

Harry reached for it, but the bird withdrew its scaly leg, holding out the other one, which had a small leather pouch tied to it.

Harry sighed, reaching into his pocket and taking out some coins, he glanced at the contents, before dropping them into the pouch.

The bird gave another squawk, this time sounding almost pleased, and the envelope magically untied itself, falling to the table.

Reaching forward toward the envelope as the strange bird flew away, he turned it over in his hand and read the messy script on the front.

_Longtooth_

Harry grinned, quickly sliding the envelope into his robes for safekeeping.

He would read the letter once he was in the privacy of his room.

"Who's that from then?" Hermione looked to Harry with her head tilted.

Harry grinned, "Padfoot."

Her head titled further, and she arched a brow in confusion.

Harry kept grinning, shaking his head as he promised to explain another time.

For the time being, Harry had to prepare for his task.

He decided it would only be fair if he informed Cedric of the nature of the task, he didn't like the idea of having an advantage. He was sure all the other champions had known for a while, but decided he should inform him regardless, as it was the polite, and honourable thing to do; and harry was nothing if not earnest in his desire to be seen as an honourable, respectable wizard.

Harry buzzed with excitement. It was still dark, the sun not having risen yet, but Harry had deliberately taken a sleeping drought from Snape so he could time his consciousness with the task.

He knew he would still feel unpleasant, and somewhat drained in the glaring sunlight, but at least he wouldn't have to deal with a dragon with bags under his eyes, falling asleep each step.

He paced through his room, hardly able to contain his anticipation.

Sirius, in his letter, had informed Harry that both he and Remus would be present to cheer for the boy, albeit hidden from public scrutiny.

It had nearly brought a tear to Harry's eyes; he'd missed his closest companions.

Half-baked plans gushed through his mind, pseudo preparations for the task ahead. He hadn't settled on any one particular idea, and it left him nervous.

He had no idea how he was going to deal with such a ferocious beast without releasing his darkness.

He was more than capable with magic, but he'd wasted too much of his last week practising his wand movements than actually researching methods to take out a dragon.

He may as well do what he'd always done best, he supposed, and react on instinct. Of course, keeping a mind on not going to far, and revealing his affliction.

He peered out of his drawn curtains, watching as the sun edged ever closer to the horizon.

Finally fed up with staring at his four walls, he exited the room.

He was already dressed in the attire he'd been provided; a maroon shirt and combat pants, parts wrapped with strange hide, tucked into some thick black boots, and wizard robes, that said 'Potter' on the back, and had a large Hogwarts crest below his name.

It didn't seem like much, but he guessed there must be a reason for giving it to them.

He resigned to skipping breakfast with the rest of Hogwarts, instead roaming the halls manically, in shadow form, lurching from shadow to shadow.

After what felt like hours of mindless activity, and a few moments of scorn spared at the burning sun, Harry finally made his way to the Quidditch pitch, which now looked dramatically different, it's interior and stands having grown substantially.

It seemed like thousands of people milled about, many of them clearly too old to be students, and Harry remembered Albus' speech on the increased publicity of the event.

Hundreds of floating mirrors darted around the stands, tracking people as they went about their business, and Harry spared them a confused thought, before continuing to mill through the throngs of people.

Many turned to gawk at him as he passed, and whispers echoed through his enhanced ears irritatingly.

As he walked near the towering stands, several ministry officials eyed him, pointing through the crowd toward a small white tent outside the arena.

Entering, his eyes rested on the other champions, huddled with what must have been their families.

Cedric stood with a short, bespectacled man, and an even smaller, dainty woman with brown hair. They rubbed his shoulders comfortingly, their conversation warm.

The father caught Harry's eye for a moment, and the man huffed, turning away from him with a sneer.

Victor stood with a heavily fur coated man, and an equally coated woman.

It appeared few words were exchanged; instead they huddled in a group hug.

Fleur whipped her head around at Harry's entrance, before quickly turning back to the small group in front of her.

A gorgeous woman with equally silver hair rested one hand on Fleur's shoulder, while the other clutched a smaller version of Fleur to her front. A tall, handsome, and black haired man stood hugging Fleur's mother with one arm, while the other held Fleur's hand.

They spoke in rapid French, and Harry deliberately blocked the noise out, not wishing to eavesdrop.

He noticed he occasional glance toward him, followed by the narrowing of eyes from the mother.

The little girl, however, had wide eyes, and seemed to be playing a game with Harry, despite his lack of consent.

She would peek at him, Past Fleur, and when he made eye contact, she would giggle, and duck away so he couldn't see her face.

It was extremely endearing, despite whom she was clearly related to.

Harry sat in the corner, watching as the other competitors conversed in hushed tones with their families.

There was, of course, nobody here for him; he had no living family bar Sirius, and pseudo uncle Remus, and he somehow doubted the wanted man, and shunned werewolf would simply stroll into the tent.

From far outside the tent, in the direction of the woods, Harry heard a faint howling over the sounds of the crowd outside, and felt an enormous smile spread across his face.

After nearly an hour of Harry sitting silently, trying to ignore the people around him, the families were ushered from the tent, as Barty Crouch and Ludo Bagman called for the champions to approach.

"Welcome, champions, to the First task of the Tri Wizard tournament.

The theme of the first task is designed to test your daring in the face of the unknown. When I call for you, you will retrieve an item from this bag." He held a leather pouch toward the surrounding students.

After a brief pause, he gestured towards Fleur, "Ladies first."

She reached into the bag with little hesitation, and pulled out a small green dragon. Its scales glimmered slightly in the low light of the tent, and she peered down at the object determinately as the small thing yawned cutely.

"Common Welsh green." The man commented absently, before turning toward Cedric, who had a somewhat queasy look on his face.

He pulled out a small, glittering blue dragon, turning in his palm as he held it in front of him. It gave a small belch, and a plume of sulphur rose from its maw.

"Swedish short-snout."

The man continued, holding the bag toward Victor, who practically jumped forward, his selection hidden firmly in his large hand. Harry slaw the faintest glimmer of red, before the boy tucked the figure away.

Luckily, Bagman had clearly seen from the other angle, and helpfully commented, "Chinese Fireball. Feisty little things."

As if it'd heard the statement, a small plume of fire launched from Victors side where he held the small creature.

Turning finally to Harry, Bagman held the pouch out.

Reaching in, Harry felt something solid beneath his fingertips.

A sudden pain in his index finger caused him to yank the little creature from the pouch quickly.

Looking into his palm, he saw a pitch-black dragon, with small traces of red around its face.

The small model had bitten his finger, piercing the skin with ease, a trail of blood rolling from his fingertip.

Ignoring the pain, he sucked on his fingertip, savouring the taste, and feeling the small slice seal itself.

"Hungarian Horn-tail." The way bagman said the words was nearly haunting, and Harry noticed several grimaces around the tent.

"Well, Ladies and gentlemen, you should notice a small number on the side of your model." Contestants quickly glanced at the figure in their hand.

"The number indicates the order you will compete in. I believe, Mr Diggory, I believe that means you are up first. When you hear a canon shot, make your way through the exit there." He pointed toward flaps on the far side of the tent.

"Your objective is to take a single, golden egg from the dragon. There are no expectations of killing the beasts.

Also, you might have noticed all the small mirrors around the place. These are enchanted, and are broadcasting what they capture around the world!"

The excitement was clear in his voice, practically jumping.

With that, he turned cheerfully, marching out of the tent, followed by Crouch.

The champions were left in silence, the only people remaining in the tent.

Harry had noticed none of the Champions had appeared particularly surprised at the 'reveal' of the contents of the task.

After several minutes, a loud Cannon shot rang through the tent, and Cedric paled as he stood.

Harry bumped him on the arm, trying to give a comforting smile. The other two just nodded at him, as he walked through the tent flaps.

The next thirty minutes were tense; the tent had clearly been enchanted so that no external sounds could be heard, bar the canon shots, as he there was a distinct lack of noise coming from where Cedric had travelled.

When harry closed his eyes, he could see Cedric's, and his Dragons hearts, pounding from outside the tent. Cedric's was moving around frantically, pumping fast.

At one point Harry thought his heart was about to explode, as the bodiless organ dropped to the floor, lurching around strangely. Finally, he noticed the small red gleam fleeing from the large Dragon heart, and after a few moments, another Canon shot was heard.

Victor stood, turning briefly to Fleur and Harry, nodding to them both, a look of determination spread across his face.

As soon as he left the tent, Fleur rounded on Harry, boring holes into him as he tried desperately to avoid her gaze.

Eventually he closed his eyes again, monitoring the actions outside the tent.

After a few moments, he felt a flare of Flowers blaze through his nostrils, and his eyes shot open immediately.

Fleur was right in front of him, maybe two meters away.

"You did not appear very phased by learning of the dragons."

She said it with little emotion, a mere statement of fact.

Harry bit back an insult. She may be curt, but she wasn't being openly rude.

"No. Neither did you."

She nodded, her expression barely budging.

"Madame Maxime told me a few weeks ago."

Harry failed to contain his snort, and noticed her arch a brow in annoyance.

"Cheater."

Her expression hardened, and she sneered at him.

"And 'ow did you manage to learn of ze Dragons wizout cheating?"

Her words dripped with acid.

"I found where they were being held, out in the woods." He answered truthfully, a sneer of his own directed right back at her.

"And what were you doing in ze woods I wonder?"

Harry's sneer deepened, and he replied, a little more viciously than he meant, "None of your business."

He saw anger fly across her face, and again He found himself breathing in the flowers. The scent maddened him, a slightly different reaction than he remembered. Pure lust surged through him, but it was an angry feeling, not pleasant like when he'd first breathed in that intoxicating scent.

He snarled at her, practically spitting.

She replied in kind, intensifying the smell tenfold.

"I know what you are." He felt her falter as soon as the words left her mouth, as if regretting them immediately, but Harry was in frenzy.

Growling, he felt a tug towards his chest as his body sucked in on itself, until he appeared suddenly, face to face with the French girl.

She brought her hand to her chest lightning fast, surprise blasting from her features.

Even faster, Harry gripped her wrist, pulling her toward him ever so slightly in his iron grip.

He felt his teeth lengthen partially as he growled, baring them as his face sat barely a foot from hers.

"You do? What are you going to do about it?"

He watched fear flash across her beautiful face briefly, before his head began to pound at the sheer volume of Floral Aura that radiated from her.

It rattled his mind, threatening to knock him over.

They remained silent for a moment, Harry battling the urge that was building within him.

His body shuddered, and sis mind was screaming at him, clutching and clawing at his insides, begging him to tear at her, to drag her further into the tent and make her his.

Instead he focused his eyes on hers, glaring deep down into her Sapphire orbs.

The feeling compounded on itself, bubbling inside him, threatening to burst.

"If you knew what I was," His teeth grew further, and he leaned close to her, his face inches away from hers.

He could smell the faintest hint of fear beneath the flowers, and it only sent the animal inside him wild. Fiends like him preyed upon such scents.

"Then you wouldn't torture me so."

He breathed in deeply, closing his eyes as he did. His head span, and he wavered as he stood, drinking in her smell.

He heard a snort, and opened his eyes to see her with a condescending sneer on her features. He still detected a trace of fear, but was relieved as the dominating flowers receded somewhat.

He noticed he was pressing himself against her.

She hadn't moved away.

She opened her mouth to say something; Harry could see the contempt on her lips before they even left her mouth.

Before she could voice it however, a canon shot rang through the tent, and Harry turned quickly to the tent flap.

Finally noticing their position, She quickly stepped from him, and ran her hands down her skirt, as if straightening it.

Her cheeks were slightly red, and she glared at him angrily.

The pent up pressure still surged through him, but Harry had regained his composure, and he stepped away from her, bowing his head, cheeks flaming hot.

"Don't lay your 'ands on me again, boy." He nodded numbly.

Silence rang out for a second, before he heard a quiet "Good luck." He detected no contempt or sarcasm in her tone, and jerked his head up in surprise

Her back was to him, and he watched as she immediately stepped out of the tent.

His heart still pounding, he let out a deep breath he hadn't realised he was holding, and felt his cheeks go red as he again realised how much pressure had been built up in him.

Enough to warrant an embarrassing physical reaction. He sincerely hoped she hadn't noticed too.

He spent the next 20 minutes with his eyes closed, tensely monitoring the small, glittering heart of Fleur as she competed against the large heart of her Dragon.

It was quite different to the actions of the others, much slower, with little movement, but Harry still frustratingly found himself unintentionally breath a sigh of relief when her small heart fled from the large one. He scowled at himself.

_She is my enemy. And she clearly delights in the manipulation of men._

Finally, he heard the final canon shot, and he strode toward the flaps with a sneer still scarring his face.

As soon as he passed into the exterior, a wall of sound slapped him, followed closely by a searing heat beating down on his face from the pretentious sun.

Cheering erupted from around the arena, thousands upon thousands of spectators jeering him along.

He tuned them out, slowly walking through to a large rocky opening, holding an arm up to hide his eyes from the suns glare.

He was standing on a raised area of boulders, separated from a coiled, gigantic dragon by a few hundred feet.

As soon as he laid eyes on it, his heart leapt a few feet in his chest.

The dragon was enormous, at least four times as large as the one Harry had killed.

It dampened his confidence considerably, but not wanting to express his doubts to the leering crowd, he continued his march forwards without missing a beat.

He stopped around two hundred feet from the enormous beast, which was now following his every move with extreme scrutiny; its huge eyes squinted as it did.

He faintly went through his plans in his head, and supressed a terrified laugh as he realised just how futile they were.

He decided he might as well negate the searing disadvantage the sun was burning him with.

He flicked his hand absently toward a nearby boulder, transfiguring it into a barrel of crude oil. Horrific stuff.

He quashed a moment of panic as he realised he was, in fact, holding his wand in his hand.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he again gestured toward the barrel, silently casting incendio at it.

It caught immediately, a small flame erupting from its open top, and the dragon leaned forward slightly in surprise.

Thick, black smoke began billowing from the flames, rising slowly upward.

Harry gestured upwards, sending the smoke to scatter across the sky above him, creating a thin layer of protection from the glaring sun.

He immediately felt himself relax a little as he felt darkness envelope him. As an added bonus, a large portion of the crowd was now blocked from his vision.

The smoke continued to rise, and he continued dispersing it, until he had a large, one hundred meter disk of smoke protecting him from the vicious rays behind them.

With a final flick of his hand, he charmed the disk to follow his movements, and turned his attention to the Dragon before him.

Narrowing his eyes at the enormous beast, he decided it would be best to combine his two existing plans, and cast an illusory spell on another nearby boulder, giving it the shape of a much smaller dragon.

The small creature stalked back and forth, flicking its serpentine tongue at the Horntail, who gave only the occasional glance to the new arrival.

Wiping a streak of sweat from his brow, Harry pushed against the mind of the enormous beast before him, and felt his mind slide easily inside.

He immediately recoiled, as a grating voice began ringing through his skull.

_Humans come for my children. Come closer and I will devour you._

Harry composed himself, asserting his will on the beast.

_I mean you no harm; I simply want a single egg. It's not even a real egg._

The dragon reared its head, releasing a screech.

_Lies. The human Lies._

He could feel the beast stirring, and desperately tried another approach.

_You will obey me. Step back._

He floored the beast with as much influence as he could, every drop of his unnatural being lacing his intent onto the dragon.

It leapt to its feet, and Harry felt panic rise in the creature, as well as no short supply of pure unadulterated fury.

_It is the monster! You have taken one from us already, and now you return!_

Understanding dawned on Harry; the dragon recognised his presence from the incident in the woods.

Its mind was chaos, an incoherent series of ear piercing screeches, melding into the ones actually escaping its mouth, it sent Harry reeling, clutching at his ears.

Breaking contact with the creatures mind, he staggered, not noticing the Dragon as it leapt toward him.

He finally turned, just as liquid fire sprayed straight at him, hitting him with a sickening sizzle as he felt his skin fizz beneath it.

He screamed, the excruciating pain rippling through his body.

He beat at the spreading flames in a panic, swatting the burning liquid from his robes.

He was suddenly lifted from his position on the floor, and whipped roughly from side to side.

Pushing the pain to the back of his mind the best he could, he swatted at the beasts face.

It had him by the waist; its huge teeth sheered straight through his flesh, slicing him in two as he struggled against its iron jaw.

He turned slightly in its mouth as it whipped him from side to side, and he felt as one of its teeth sliced from his hip down to his thigh, grating against his thighbone.

Another scream echoed through the arena, and he desperately blinked away from its mouth.

Collapsing a few feet away, he clawed at the gravel beneath his fingers, crawling from the slightly confused dragon, gnashing against the air that had replaced him.

Rolling onto his back, the dragon finally noticed him, and lurched toward him.

Again, he dissolved before it, darting another few feet away, leaving a trail of dark smoke behind him.

He could feel his wounds beginning to stitch themselves together, but he was in extreme pain.

He'd dropped his wand after the initial assault, his hands blistered from the flames, but he didn't care; for the first time in years, Harry felt mortal.

Flinging his hand toward the beast, he unleashed a ruthless reductor straight at its head; which snapped back from the concussive force, sending the creature reeling.

He pushed himself up onto his crippled knees, watching as the dragon screeched horrifically.

It lowered its head back to him, but didn't leap straight forward, instead favouring its distance.

The floppy, scaled skin on its neck rumbled, and it drew in a huge breath, the heat shimmering around its nostrils.

In a panic Harry again jerked his hands toward it.

White-hot flames erupted from his palm, taking the shape of a snake as it barrelled straight into the now gaping mouth of the dragon.

He heard more screeching behind the wall of flame that obscured his view, and finally pushed himself back onto his feet.

He staggered in place, his legs still blistered and mangled, but he held his weight.

He knew he needed to keep moving; he had managed to surprise the ancient dragon, but he doubted he could compete with such a ferocious beast for much longer; his blood was working overtime to soothe his immolated figure.

_Think of the power you'd wield if you drank this magnificent beast!_

The thought rang through his mind before he could quash it, and he felt a surge of anger at it.

He called to his transfigured dragon, who had so far been completely useless; the real dragon ignored it, probably smelling the trickery from a mile off.

The transfigured dragon rounded behind the Horntail.

He flung his hands forward, launching several stunning hexes out, before following with another brutal Reducto, hearing a sickening crunch from the dragon's foreleg as he did.

The dragon staggered, the weight bending its leg the wrong way, before his transfigured dragon struck, sinking fangs against the horntails exposed hind legs.

Without missing a beat, Harry flew around the beast in a circle, again leaving the smokey trail in his wake. Small glittering mirrors danced around him as he flew, and he absently swatted at those that got too close.

The dragon roared, shifting its weight from its injured leg, and sent a few bursts of liquid fire straight at Harry, swatting at the annoyance that was the smaller dragon with its spikey tail.

It made contact, its sharp points penetrating deep into the false armour on the small dragon.

His creation whimpered, stumbling in pain as the horntail wrenched its tail from the gaping wound. Its back was torn open, and it struggled to stand upright.

Harry continued to dodge, switching direction rapidly, occasionally sending some spell or other at the disoriented beast.

Anger clouded his mind; if he took a moment to relax, he would realise the eggs were undefended, and he could just swoop to grab one, ending the task.

But instead, he fed his wounded pride.

_HE _was the apex predator. This beast was merely competition in need of vanquish.

He sent a Bombarda straight at the creatures head, followed by two successive Confringo.

The creature spun helplessly as he circled it, flinching as it was battered relentlessly.

He'd yet to crack any of its toughened scales, but he was certainly damaging them.

He sent another command to his conjured dragon, and the loyal beast limped again toward the enormous Horntail.

In a pathetic attempt, the small dragon huffed a slim plume of fire directly into the face of the Horntail, who seemed largely unaffected by the assault.

Snarling, it gnashed at Harry's creation, clamping its jaw down on the fleeing dragon.

A high-pitched yelp sounded from the creature as the horntail bisected it. For a brief moment, its rich, transfigured blood sprayed out, before the entire thing returned to its stone origin, falling away as several cracked boulders and smaller pebbles spraying about.

The horntail returned its attention to Harry, who continued flinging blast after blast. It continued to spew fire as it desperately searched for its tormentor, and even leapt forward trying to grab the boy.

Eventually, a quick burst of the liquid fire found its mark, knocking harry from his flight, tumbling as he did, batting again at the cursed flames.

He continued rolling as he landed, using his momentum to immediately rise.

His robes billowed around him, still flaming, but he ignored them, firing an arrow of condensed light over his shoulder from his open palm.

Spinning, his motions fluid and graceful, Harry felt _alive._

He was being tested, and it thrilled him.

His heart pounded, a bloodlust rampaging through him as he battled with the dragon.

Its gargantuan, glowing heart pulsed tantalisingly in its chest, and Harry unconsciously licked his lips in maddened glee.

He blinked forward, straight through another blast of fire, which clung to his already burning figure.

Scorched skin and sulphur burnt his nose, but he ignored it along with the pain.

He slashed down diagonally as he reached its rearing visage, bringing an elongated claw across its eye.

A spurt of blood and eye fluid splattered against his maddened features, and his blood rose further.

The dragon leapt back, it's enormous wings propelling it dozens of meters away.

Harry followed, the raging inferno clinging to his nearly incinerated robes, patches of crisp skin visible beneath the rags.

He fired several blasts as he rounded on the fleeing beast, breathing in the rising fear from the beast.

_Cower before me, rabid filth._

He pressed the words into its mind unforgivingly, watching it flinch as he ruthlessly tore at its mind as well as its scales.

Several gave way beneath his onslaught, his muscles hummed with exertion, and he felt the power beneath his swipes.

The creature flailed before him, its small opponent a ferocious and unyielding monster.

It screeched in his mind, begging for a reprieve.

Bursts of flame escaped its maw, but in its panic they simply billowed into the open air, missing their already blazing target.

The beast again leapt into the air, the wind force buffeting Harry into the floor as it rose higher and higher. Closing his hand to a fist, He dissolved and leapt toward the retreating dragon, bringing his clenched fist against its enormous fleeing jaw.

It cracked under his swing, and he felt as a giant tooth flew from its open mouth, bone fragments splintered, showering him, small lacerations stinging his skin. A sudden slurry of pain spread from his abdomen, and he reeled slightly, as he glanced down. A fragment nearly a hand long jutted from his torso.

Thick blood gurgled around it, oozing from him, and he clutched at it, desperately holding it in.

The dragon collapsed, falling several meters to the floor in heap with a huge thud.

Harry followed shortly after it, clutching at the huge fang embedded into his stomach.

He tucked as he hit the ground, landing on his back.

The wind was knocked from him, a rattling gasp escaping him. But as the pain bellowed fiercely into his mind, his rationality followed swiftly after it.

He staggered toward the now forgotten and abandoned nest, wrenching the golden egg from beneath several larger, pearlescent eggs.

Turning, he smashed his mind against the Dragons, using every last dreg of consciousness he had, pushing down the returning fear.

It began to rouse, noticing the egg in his hands, and he hastened toward the exit, as several Dragon Handlers burst out into the arena.

He watched the beast every inch of the way, until he finally stepped through a tent flap, and immediately collapsed.

Ragged breaths wracked his body, and he failed to control the convulsions that shook his entire being.

Several figures rushed forward as he writhed on the floor, and he felt one of them recoil at the sight of him.

Harry was pulled from the comforting black depth with a gentle shake.

Looking up, he saw Albus smiling gently down at him.

"I'd rather not make this a habit, Harry." He smiled ruefully.

Harry sat up, flexing his shoulders as he did.

Glancing at his body, he was again amazed at his natural healing abilities; his burns were largely healed, only a few particularly nasty gouges and gashed remained.

Dumbledore spoke from the side. "I must implore you Harry, to be a little more discreet with your… abilities, for the remainder of the tournament. Your actions are raising a lot of questions. The prophet has already asked for a statement regarding your strange knowledge of the dark arts."

Harry absently nodded, he'd rather people thought he had a proclivity for the dark, than knowing he was a predatory monster.

"Sorry Albus. I was a little rattled before I even entered the arena. Just lost it in the thrill of facing a horntail."

His face was bright, remembering the events fondly.

He had challenged one of the most dangerous creatures in existence, and survived; perhaps even held the upper hand for a while.

He couldn't help but feel he may have defeated the titan had he truly embraced the darkness.

Albus gave him a brief, worried expression. "Most people don't relish the presence of a horntail, Harry." His chuckle was friendly, if a little forced.

"How did I do? Score wise?" Harry was clenching and unclenching his fist, watching as his claws receded into his regular fingernails.

The flesh on his arms was red, slightly blistered.

"Decent, I suppose. Lost a lot of points because the judges couldn't really see what happened, and also because of the damage you received. Took a while too, only Cedric took longer."

Harry nodded, urging him to continue.

"Thirty two points, two points below Cedric. Miss Delacour leads with forty two, trailed by Victor on thirty nine."

Harry growled at the news. She would no doubt be even more arrogant now.

"How'd they get passed the dragon then? I'd like to see one of them battle a horntail like I did." He sulked a bit, leaning back against his pillows.

Albus grinned brightly at him.

"Well Harry, if you'll remember correctly, the objective wasn't to fight the dragon. Just to get its egg. Miss Delacour charmed her dragon by singing to it. Magnificent display of her mastery of charms it was, Flitwick was transfixed I bet. It was marred only by the snoring beast burning her skirt as she tiptoed passed it." Harry huffed, and Albus continued. "Mr Diggory tried to distract the beast by transfiguring a boulder into a wolf. Worked for a while, but it eventually lost interest in the yapping thing. Gave him a right good singe." He chuckled as he regaled the tale.

"Krum tried to cast a conjunctivitis curse at his Dragon. Worked perfectly, only problem was that the Dragon trampled its own eggs in blind fury. He was remarkably fast to finish as well." He continued to smile at Harry, who sat rather sullenly in the hospital bed.

Finally looking at his surroundings, he found himself in another tent, as opposed to the infirmary.

Three other beds sat around them.

"Though I must say Harry, yours was was a spectacular duel for those of us who could see it." He grinned as he spoke, and Harry felt his pride well within him.

"So what have I missed?"

He sat up once more, as Madam Pomfrey entered the tent, rushing towards him in shock.

"Very little Mr Potter. You finished your bout not thirty minutes ago. The scores were only announced a little over five minutes, there was deep discussion regarding yours."

Madam Pomfrey silently regarded Harry as they spoke, roughly jostling him around so she could inspect his wounds.

Seemingly satisfied, she pulled a bag of crimson fluid from her seemingly bottomless pouch, giving him an appraising look.

"I would drink that quickly, Mr Potter, lest someone barge in here." Her voice was stern. He couldn't blame her; he was probably a walking aneurism to the poor lady, what with his disregard for injury.

He greedily tore at the edge of the bag, slurping heartily at the contents.

All too soon he'd sucked every drop, gasping for air.

She snatched the empty bag from him, stuffing it back into her pouch, before turning and walking out wordlessly.

"Well that's good enough for me. Lets go join the others in the champions tent, Harry."

Albus held out his hand to the boy, smiling as he did.

Harry quickly wiped his mouth with his sleeve, noticing his distinct lack of clothing.

Standing, he quickly conjured air into a pair of comfortable black sweat pants, and a loose fitting, plain white t-shirt. They were basic muggle clothes, and far comfier than anything he'd ever worn from the magical world, enchanted or otherwise.

He hobbled slightly as he followed Albus, his bones creaking with each step.

Albus laughed, a deep guffaw, at the sound.

"You look older than me, my boy."

Harry feigned insult, clutching his hand to his heart.

They passed hundreds of spectators, and several reporters, who lurched towards Harry; luckily there was a line of ministry officials barring their way, holding them back.

Harry doubted he'd ever felt more gratitude in his life.

Entering the tent, he shuffled uncomfortably behind Albus as a collective gasp sounded from the tents inhabitants.

Cedric stepped toward harry, looking a little worse for wear, a light cream coated half his face, and ran down one side of his neck.

Clearly he'd copped some dragon fire as well.

The other two contestants appeared unharmed, though they too followed Harry with watchful eyes.

Cedric clapped Harry on the back lightly, as Harry looked to Victor.

He looked at Harry with newfound respect, his nod nearing a head bow.

Harry had become a serious contender to the Cup, it seemed.

Fleur's face flashed with unreadable emotion, and he felt a brief wave of flowers wash over him.

It was a pleasant feeling, although short lived.

She rapidly replaced her mask, and regarded him with cool eyes, looking him up and down.

He turned away from the wicked witch, and returned the back slap to Cedric, who winced slightly at the contact.

"Good to see you're still with us Cedric!"

He smiled to the older boy, and they shared a chuckle.

"Speak for yourself! How are you even awake?"

He wasn't close with Cedric, not even really friends; But the Hufflepuff had proven himself to be a good man, and there was something about near death experiences that brought people together.

Well, It wasn't quite near death in Harry's perspective, he supposed, but the idea still held.

The next few minutes were pleasant, as Harry simply chatted with Albus and Cedric, who quietly promised he'd help Harry with the clue, in return for Harry's hint at the dragons.

Bagman stood in the centre of the room, clearing his throat, gaining the tents' contents attention.

"Champions, I implore you to study your newly obtained eggs closely, as they hold the answers you'll need to face the second major task, which will be held on January seventh! In the meantime, we have a few minor tasks you shall compete in. You should report to your respective headmaster on December first, where you will be briefed on your instructions for such tasks."

Light conversation continued for a while, and Harry absently felt the ache of his wounds patching themselves as he chatted with Cedric.

Eventually Crouch, and a few other Ministry officials had interrogated Harry over his use of unsupported flight, and various other 'dark' spells such as fiendyre. Albus had stood right beside him, a hand on his shoulder the entire time, refusing to part with the boy.

His earlier discussion about steering clear of the ministry rang in his ears throughout, occasionally sending jolts through him as visions of being hunted with flaming torches and pitchforks crossed his eyes.

He'd managed, however, being given only a harsh word over the dangers of Dark magic, and a few stern glares. They'd also returned his wand, carefully watching, as to gauge his reaction. Harry pointedly made a show of gushing, and appearing embarrassed at his stupidity for misplacing it, clutching it tightly to his chest, as if being apart from it physically hurt him. He'd eventually been allowed to follow the other Champions from the tent, after which he immediately retired to his room, and slept for what could've been hours.


End file.
